11 
"a 


UM.VtRSlVf  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


Sister    Eulalie,    her  eyes   dry   now,   was  still  standing 
near  the  bed. —  The  Letters. 


Selected  Stories 


BY 


Guy  De  Maupassant 

Translated  and  Edited  by 

Dora  Knowlton  Ranous 


VOLUME  I 

Ball-of-Suet,    A  Family  Matter,     The 
Diamond    Necklace,     The    Clock 
The  Wedding  Night,  Wom- 
an's    Love,      Duchoux 
The  False  Jewels 
Checkmate ! 
Etc. 


The  Leslie- Judge  Company 

New  York 


Copyright.  1912,  by 

THE  NEW  WERNER  COMPANY 

Akron,  Ohio 


CONTENTS 


PAGfi 

PREFACE               .        ...        .        .        .        .  v 

Ball-of-Suet     .         .         .         ..:,...  1 

A  Family  Matter        .        .        .        .        »        .  63 

The  Artist's  Model         .         .         .        .        .         .  105 

The  Letters     n  .  :      .         .         .         .        .        .  115 

Cemetery   Sirens      .        >*•        ...         .      •  ;  121 

The  Dying  Peasant     .         .         .  :     w         .       .  .     *>  132 

A  Madman's  Journal       ......       ,         .         •         »  143 

Checkmate!          .      .  T         .         .         .         .         .  151 

The  Shepherd's  Leap      .         ....         .  162 

A  Husband's  Confession      .         .         .         ,         .  168 

Madame  Parisse      .         i         .         .         .         .         .  178 

The  Wedding  Night    .         .         .         ....  189 

Father  and  Son       .         .         .         .         .         .         .  198 

The  False  Jewels 219 

That   Umbrella!       .         .         .         ....  229 

The  Clock  . 242 

The  Dowry 256 

The  Lancer's  Wife     .         „        .        ,        .         .  265 

Prisoners  of  War    .         .         .         ...         .  285 

Woman's  Love .  303 

The  Devil's  Visit     .         .         .         .                  .         .  312 

Was  it  a  Dream? 323 

Simon's   Papa          ...         .         .         .         .  331 

The  Diamond  Necklace       .         .        .        .        .  345 

Duchoux 358 

Timbuctoo            .                  370 

Denis                .     •    .                  381 


111. 


PREFACE 

HENRI  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant  was  born  in 
France,  August  5,  1850,  at  the  Chateau  de  Miromesnil, 
Department  of  the  Lower  Seine.  He  was  educated 
chiefly  at  the  Rouen  Lycee,  and  later  was  employed  about 
fifteen  years  in  the  Admiralty  Office  in  Paris.  He  became 
a  friend  and  disciple  of  Gustave  Flaubert,  with  whom  he 
was  connected  by  marriage.  That  great  stylist  encouraged 
his  brilliant  pupil  to  write,  and  the  youth  was  a  frequent 
visitor  and  keen  observer  at  the  -famous  gatherings  held 
in  Flaubert's  little  house  at  Croisset,  meeting  such  master 
spirits  as  Daudet,  Zola,  Heredia,  the  Freres  De  Goncourt, 
and  George  Sand.  De  Maupassant  called  Flaubert  his 
literary  godfather,  and  when  his  first  real  success  came, 
rvith  the  publication  of  that  vivid  little  sketch  "Boule  de 
Suif"  ("Ball-of-Suet"),  his  severe  but  kindly  mentor  wrote 
to  him:  "You  have  produced  a  masterpiece,  young  man. 
Decidedly,  if  you  keep  on  in  this  way,  you  will  become  a 
great  writer." 

The  young  romancer  took  an  active  part  in  the  Franco- 
Prussian  War,  and  his  experiences  during  that  period  sug- 
gested to  him  some  of  the  most  powerful  of  his  stones. 

In  his  brief  but  brilliant  career,  De  Maupassant  suc- 
ceeded in  making  himself  known  as  the  master  of  short- 
story  writing:  merciless  in  his  analysis  of  the  life  of  the 
higher  classes,  photographic  in  his  presentation  of  the 


vi  PREFACE 

simple-minded  country  folk  and  the  prosaic  bourgeoisie 
whom  he  understood  so  well.  Although  his  novels  rank 
high  as  pictures  of  French  society  life,  it  is  his  short 
stories  that  make  the  strongest  appeal  to  all  tastes. 

In  the  flush  of  his  success,  and  eager  to  win  fresh 
triumphs,  De  Maupassant  urged  his  genius  too  far,  and 
sacrificed  his  health  to  his  desire  for  fame.  In  order  to 
counteract  the  effects  of  overwork,  he  dallied  with  drugs, 
which,  while  stimulating  him  to  the  production  of  some 
of  his  finest  tales,  brought  on  intense  nervousness  and 
finally  a  lesion  of  the  brain,  for  which  he  was  treated  in 
a  sanatorium  for  two  years  before  his  death,  which  oc- 
curred July  6,  1893. 

The  writings  of  De  Maupassant  are  well  fitted^  to  play 
an  important  part  in  the  work  of  civilization.  They  do 
not  recommend  any  virtue,  it  is  true;  they  do  not  dwell 
upon  any;  they  neither  assume  nor  fulfil  any  high  instruc- 
tive office;  but  they  are  clear,  exact,  precise,  satiric  pic- 
tures of  realities,  and  surely  exactitude  and  truth,  pointed 
with  wholesome  satire,  should  serve  a  useful  purpose.  It 
is  a  strange  fact  that,  while  a  clergyman  is  praised  for 
drawing  in  his  sermons  the  liveliest  pictures  of  human 
error  and  weakness,  the  same  persons  that  applaud  these 
efforts  hesitate  to  approve  when  a  romancer  paints  the 
same  pictures  in  his  own  colors.  But  De  Maupassant 
never  feared  to  hold  the  mirror  up  to  weakness  and  folly; 
vanity,  egotism,  moral  feebleness,  lack  of  idealism,  stu- 
pidity, selfishness — all  these  traits  he  has  presented  in  a 
way  possibly  unflattering  to  the  race  in  general,  but  one 
not  unworthy  the  study  of  the  strictest  moralist.  The 
world's  great  satirists — Rabelais,  Moliere,  Flaubert,  De 
Maupassant — are  the  real  salt  of  society,  which  certainly 
not  eradicate  the  taint  of  worldly  corruption,  but 


PREFACE  vii 

'\thout  which  society  would  probably  be  much  worse 
<\an  it  is.  In  his  wonderful  pictures  of  life,  and  of  human 
^perfections,  the  care  De  Maupassant  took  not  to  over- 
step the  truth  was  prompted  by  genuine  moral  instinct 
quite  as  much  as  by  literary  tact.  The  world  owes  him 
a  debt  of  gratitude,  not  only  as  a  prince  of  entertainers, 
but  as  a  writer  in  whose  work  the  admixture  of  beneficial 
bitterness  acts  as  a  salutary  draught  to  regulate  the  con- 
science and  the  vanity  of  mankind. 


BALL-OF-SUET 

(Boule  de  Suif) 

DETACHMENTS  of  a  defeated  army  had  been 
passing  through  the  town  for  several  days. 
They  were  only  disorganized  bands,  not  dis- 
ciplined troops.  The  men  wore  long,  dirty  beards 
and  ragged  uniforms;  they  marched  listlessly, 
without  flag  or  leader.  All  appeared  exhausted,  in- 
capable of  thought  or  resolve,  marching  merely 
through  force  of  habit,  and  falling  to  the  ground 
with  fatigue  the  moment  they  halted.  In  particular, 
one  saw  many  enlisted  men,  peaceful  citizens,  men 
who  had  lived  quietly  on  their  income,  stooping  un- 
der the  weight  of  their  rifles ;  and  little  active  volun- 
teers, easily  frightened  but  full  of  enthusiasm,  as 
eager  to  attack  as  they  were  .eady  to  run  away; 
and  among  these,  a  sprinkling  of  soldiers  in  red 
breeches,  the  pitiful  remnant  of  a  division  cut 
down  in  a  great  battle;  somber  artillerymen  side 
by  side  with  nondescript  foot-soldiers;  and  here 
and  there  the  bright  helmet  of  a  heavy-footed  dra- 
goon who  had  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  the 
quicker  pace  of  the  soldiers  of  the  line. 


2  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Legions  of  irregulars  with  high-sounding  names 
—"Avengers  of  Defeat,"  "Citizens  of  the  Tomb," 
"Brethren  in  Death" — passed  in  their  turn,  look- 
ing like  banditti. 

Their  leaders,  former  drapers  or  grain  mer- 
chants, or  tallow  or  soap  chandlers — soldiers  by 
force  of  circumstance,  officers  by  reason  of  their 
moustaches  or  their  money — loaded  with  weapons, 
flannel  and  braid  and  lace,  spoke  impressively, 
discussed  plans  of  campaign,  and  behaved  as  if 
they  alone  bore  the  fortunes  of  dying  France  on 
their  braggart  shoulders;  though,  in  truth,  they 
frequently  were  afraid  of  their  own  men — scoun- 
drels often  brave  without  limit,  but  dishonest  and 
debauched. 

Rumor  said  that  the  Prussians  were  about  to 
enter  Rouen. 

The  members  of  the  National  Guard,  who  for 
two  months  had  been  reconnoitering  with  the  ut- 
most caution  in  the  neighboring  woods,  occasion- 
ally shooting  their  own  sentinels,  and  making 
ready  for  fight  whenever  a  rabbit  rustled  in  the 
undergrowth,  had  now  returned  to  their  homes. 
Their  arms,  their  uniforms,  all  the  death-dealing 
paraphernalia  with  which  they  had  terrified  all 
the  milestones  along  the  highroad  for  eight  miles 
round,  had  suddenly  and  marvelously  disappeared. 

The  last  of  the  French  soldiers  had  just  crossed 
the  Seine  on  their  way  to  Pont-Audemer,  through 
Saint-Sever  and  Bourg-Archard,  and  in  their  rear 


BALL-OF-SUET  3 

the  vanquished  general,  powerless  to  do  anything 
with  the  forlorn  remnants  of  his  army,  himself 
dismayed  at  the  final  overthrow  of  a  nation  accus- 
tomed to  victory,  and  disastrously  defeated  despite 
its  legendary  bravery,  walked  between  two  orderlies. 

Then  a  profound  calm,  a  shuddering  silent  dread, 
settled  on  the  city.  Many  a  round-bellied  citizen, 
emasculated  by  years  devoted  to  business,  anx- 
iously awaited  the  conquerors,  trembling  lest  his 
roasting-jacks  or  kitchen  knives  should  be  looked 
upon  as  weapons. 

Life  seemed  to  have  stopped  short;  the  shops 
were  shut,  the  streets  deserted.  Now  and  then  an 
inhabitant,  awed  by  the  silence,  glided  swiftly  by  in 
the  shadow  of  the  walls.  The  agony  of  suspense 
made  men  even  desire  the  arrival  of  the  enemy. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  the  de- 
parture of  the  French  troops,  a  number  of  uhlans, 
coming  no  one  knew  whence,  passed  rapidly 
through  the  town.  A  little  later,  a  black  mass  de- 
scended St.  Catherine's  Hill,  while  two  other  in- 
vading bodies  appeared  respectively  on  the  Dar- 
netal  and  the  Bois-guillaume  roads.  The  advance 
guards  of  the  three  corps  arrived  at  precisely  the 
same  moment  at  the  Place  de  1'Hotel  de  Ville,  and 
the  German  army  poured  through  all  the  adjacent 
streets,  its  battalions  making  the  pavement  ring 
with  their  firm,  measured  tread. 

Orders  shouted  in  an  unknown  guttural  tongue 
rose  to  the  windows  of  the  seemingly  dead,  de- 


4  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

serted  houses ;  while  behind  the  tightly-closed  shut- 
ters eager  eyes  peered  forth  at  the  victors — masters 
now  of  the  city,  its  fortunes,  and  its  lives,  by  "right 
of  war."  The  inhabitants,  in  their  darkened  rooms, 
were  possessed  by  that  terror  which  follows  in  the 
wake  of  cataclysms,  of  deadly  upheavals  of  the 
earth,  against  which  all  human  skill  and  strength 
are  vain.  For  the  same  thing  happens  whenever 
the  established  order  of  things  is  disturbed,  when 
security  no  longer  exists,  when  all  those  rights 
usually  protected  by  the  laws  of  man  or  of  Na- 
ture are  at  the  mercy  of  unreasoning,  savage  force. 
The  earthquake  crushing  a  whole  people  under  fall- 
ing roofs;  the  floor  let  loose,  and  engulfing  in  its 
swirling  depths  the  corpses  of  drowned  peasants 
along  with  dead  oxen  and  beams  torn  from  shattered 
houses ;  or  the  army,  covered  with  glory,  murdering 
those  who  defend  themselves,  making  prisoners  of 
the  rest,  pillaging  in  the  name  of  the  Sword,  and 
giving  thanks  to  God  to  the  thunder  of  cannon — all 
these  are  appalling  scourges,  which  destroy  all  belief 
in  eternal  justice,  all  that  confidence  we  have  been 
taught  to  feel  in  the  protection  of  Heaven  and  the 
reason  of  man. 

Small  detachments  of  soldiers  knocked  at  each 
door,  and  then  entered  the  houses;  for  the  van- 
quished saw  they  must  be  civil  to  their  conquerors. 

After  a  short  time,  when  the  first  terror  had  sub- 
sided, calm  was  again  restored.  In  many  houses 
the  Prussian  officer  ate  at  the  same  table  with  the 


BALL-OF-SUET  5 

family.  He  was  often  well-bred,  and,  out  of  cour- 
tesy, expressed  sympathy  with  France  and  repug- 
nance at  being  compelled  to  take  part  in  the  war. 
This  sentiment  was  received  with  gratitude ;  besides, 
his  protection  might  be  necessary  some  day.  By 
the  exercise  of  tact  the  number  of  men  quartered 
in  one's  house  might  be  reduced;  and  why  should 
one  provoke  the  hostility  of  a  person  on  whom 
one's  whole  welfare  depended?  Such  conduct 
would  look  less  like  bravery  than  like  foolhardi- 
ness.  And  foolhardiness  is  no  longer  a  failing  of 
the  citizens  of  Rouen,  as  it  was  in  the  days  when 
their  city  earned  renown  by  its  heroic  defenses. 
Last  of  all — final  argument  based  on  the  national 
politeness — the  citizens  of  Rouen  said  to  one  an- 
other that  it  was  only  right  to  be  civil  in  one's  own 
house,  provided  there  was  no  public  exhibition  of 
familiarity  with  the  foreigner.  Out  of  doors,  there- 
fore, citizen  and  soldier  did  not  know  each  other; 
but  in  the  house  both  chatted  freely,  and  every  even- 
ing the  German  remained  a  little  longer  warming 
himself  at  the  hospitable  hearth. 

By  degrees  even  the  town  itself  resumed  its  ordi- 
nary aspect.  The  French  seldom  walked  abroad, 
but  the  streets  swarmed  with  Prussian  soldiers. 
Moreover,  the  officers  of  the  Blue  Hussars,  who 
arrogantly  dragged  their  instruments  of  death  along 
the  pavements,  seemed  to  hold  the  simple  towns- 
men in  but  little  more  contempt  than  did  the  French 
cavalry  officers  who  had  drunk  at  the  same  cafes 
the  year  before. 


6  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

But  there  was  something  in  the  air,  a  something 
strange  and  subtle,  an  intolerable  foreign  atmos- 
phere like  a  penetrating  odor — the  odor  of  inva- 
sion. It  permeated  dwellings  and  places  of  public 
resort,  changed  the  taste  of  food,  made  one  imagine 
oneself  in  far-distant  lands,  amid  dangerous  bar- 
baric tribes. 

The  conquerors  demanded  money,  a  great  deal  of 
money.  The  inhabitants  paid  what  was  asked ;  they 
were  rich.  But  the  wealthier  a  Norman  tribesman 
becomes  the  more  he  suffers  at  having  to  part  with 
anything  that  belongs  to  him,  or  to  see  any  por- 
tion of  his  substance  pass  into  the  hands  of  an- 
other. 

Nevertheless,  within  six  or  seven  miles  of  the 
town,  along  the  course  of  the  river  as  it  flows  on- 
ward to  Croisset,  Dieppedalle,  and  Biessart,  boat- 
men and  fishermen  often  hauled  to  the  surface  of 
the  water  the  body  of  a  German,  bloated  in  his  uni- 
form, killed  by  a  blow  from  knife  or  club,  his  head 
crushed  by  a  stone,  or  perhaps  he  had  been  pushed 
from  some  bridge  into  the  stream  below.  The 
mud  of  the  river-bed  swallowed  up  these  obscure 
acts  of  vengeance — savage,  yet  legitimate ;  these  un- 
recorded deeds  of  bravery;  these  silent  attacks 
fraught  with  greater  danger  than  battles  fought  in 
broad  day,  and  surrounded  with  no  halo  of  ro- 
mance. For  hatred  of  the  foreigner  always  arms 
some  intrepid  souls,  ready  to  die  for  an  idea. 

At  last  as  the  invaders,  though  subjecting  the 


BALL-OF-SUET  7 

town  to  the  strictest  discipline,  had  not  committed 
any  of  the  deeds  of  horror  with  which  they  had 
been  credited  while  on  their  triumphal  march,  the 
people  grew  bolder,  and  the  necessities  of  business 
again  animated  the  breasts  of  the  local  merchants. 
Some  of  these  had  important  commercial  interests 
at  Havre — occupied  at  present  by  the  French  army 
— and  wished  to  attempt  to  reach  that  port  by  over- 
land route  to  Dieppe,  taking  the  boat  from  that 
point. 

Through  the  influence  of  the  German  officers 
whose  acquaintance  they  had  made,  they  obtained 
permission  to  leave  town  from  the  general  in  com- 
mand. 

A  large  four-horse  coach  having,  therefore,  been 
engaged  for  the  journey,  and  ten  passengers  hav- 
ing registered  their  names  with  the  proprietor,  they 
decided  to  set  out  on  a  certain  Tuesday  morning  be- 
fore daybreak,  to  avoid  attracting  a  crowd. 

The  ground  had  been  frozen  hard  for  some  time 
and  about  three  o'clock  on  Monday  afternoon  large 
black  clouds  from  the  north  shed  their  burden  of 
snow  uninterruptedly  all  through  that  evening  and 
night. 

At  half -past  four  in  the  morning  the  travelers 
met  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Hotel  de  Normandie, 
where  they  were  to  take  their  seats  in  the  coach. 

They  were  still  half  asleep,  and  shivering  with 
cold  under  their  wraps.  They  could  see  one  another 
only  indistinctly  in  the  darkness,  and  the  mountain 


8  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

of  heavy  winter  wraps  in  which  each  was  swathed 
made  them  look  like  a  gathering  of  fat  priests  in 
their  long  cassocks.  But  two  men  recognized  each 
other,  a  third  accosted  them,  and  the  three  began 
to  talk.  "I  am  taking  my  wife,"  said  one.  "So 
ami."  "And  I."  The  first  speaker  added :  "We 
shall  not  return  to  Rouen,  and  if  the  Prussians 
approach  Havre  we  shall  go  over  to  England."  It 
turned  out  that  all  had  made  the  same  plans,  being 
of  similar  disposition  and  temperament. 

Still  the  horses  were  not  harnessed.  A  small 
lantern  carried  by  a  stable-boy  emerged  now  and 
then  from  one  dark  doorway  to  disappear  immedi- 
ately in  another.  The  stamping  of  horses'  hoofs, 
deadened  by  the  dung  and  straw  of  the  stable,  was 
heard  from  time  to  time,  and  from  inside  the  build- 
ing issued  a  man's  voice,  talking  to  the  animals  and 
cursing  them.  A  faint  tinkle  of  bells  showed  that 
the  harness  was  being  put  on;  this  tinkle  soon  de- 
veloped into  a  continuous  jingling,  louder  or  softer 
according  to  the  movements  of  the  horse,  sometimes 
stopping  altogether,  then  breaking  out  in  a  sudden 
peal,  accompanied  by  a  pawing  of  the  ground  by  an 
iron-shod  hoof. 

The  door  suddenly  closed.  All  noise  ceased.  The 
half-frozen  townsmen  were  silent;  they  remained 
motionless,  stiff  with  cold. 

A  thick  veil  of  glistening  white  flakes  fell  cease- 
lessly to  the  ground ;  it  obliterated  all  outlines,  en- 
veloped all  objects  in  an  icy  mantle  of  foam.: 


BALL-OF-SUET  9 

nothing  was  to  be  heard  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  silent,  winter-bound  city  save  the 
soft,  nameless  rustle  of  falling  snow — a  sensation 
rather  than  a  sound — the  gentle  mingling  of  light 
atoms  which  seemed  to  fill  all  space,  to  cover  the 
whole  "world. 

The  man  reappeared  with  his  lantern,  leading  by 
a  rope  a  melancholy-looking  horse,  evidently  led 
out  against  his  will.  The  hostler  placed  him  beside 
the  pole,  fastened  the  traces,  and  spent  some  time 
in  walking  round  him  to  make  sure  that  the  har- 
ness was  all  right ;  for  he  could  use  only  one  hand, 
the  other  holding  the  lantern.  As  he  was  about 
to  bring  out  the  second  horse  he  noticed  the  mo- 
tionless group  of  travelers,  already  white  with  snow, 
and  said  to  them:  "Why  don't  you  get  inside  the 
coach?  You  would  be  under  cover,  at  least." 

This  did  not  seem  to  have  occurred  to  them,  and 
they  at  once  took  his  advice.  The  three  men  seated 
their  wives  at  the  far  end  of  the  coach,  then  got  in 
themselves;  lastly  the  other  vague,  snow-shrouded 
forms  mounted  to  the  remaining  places  without  a 
word. 

The  floor  was  covered  with  straw,  into  which  the 
feet  sank.  The  ladies  at  the  far  end,  having  brought 
with  them  little  copper  foot-warmers  heated  by 
means  of  a  kind  of  chemical  fuel,  proceeded  to  light 
these,  and  spent  some  time  in  talking  in  low  tones 
on  their  advantages,  saying  over  and  over  again 
things  they  had  all  known  for  a  long  time. 

Vol.  1—2 


10  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

At  last,  six  horses  instead  of  four  having  been 
harnessed  to  the  diligence,  because  of  the  heavy 
roads,  a  voice  outside  asked:  "Is  everyone  there?" 
To  which  a  voice  from  the  interior  replied:  "Yes," 
and  they  set  out. 

The  vehicle  moved  slowly,  slowly,  at  snail's  pace ; 
the  wheels  sank  into  the  snow ;  the  entire  body  of 
the  coach  creaked  and  groaned ;  the  horses  slipped, 
panted,  steamed,  and  the  coachman's  long  whip 
cracked  incessantly,  flying  here  and  there,  coiling 
up,  then  flinging  out  its  length  like  a  slender  ser- 
pent, as  it  lashed  some  rounded  flank,  which  in- 
stantly grew  tense  as  it  strained  in  further  effort. 

Light  came  on.  Those  light  flakes  which  one 
traveler,  a  native  of  Rouen,  had  compared  to  a 
rain  of  cotton,  fell  no  longer.  A 'dull  light  filtered 
through  dark,  heavy  clouds,  which  made  the  coun- 
try more  dazzlingly  white  by  contrast,  a  whiteness 
broken  sometimes  by  a  row  of  tall  trees  spangled 
with  hoarfrost,  or  by  a  cottage  roof  hooded  in 
snow. 

Within  the  coach  the  passengers  eyed  one  an- 
other curiously  in  the  dim  light  of  dawn. 

At  the  back,  in  the  best  seats,  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Loiseau,  wholesale  wine  merchants  of  the 
Rue  Grand-Font,  slept  opposite  each  other.  For- 
merly clerk  to  a  merchant  who  had  failed  in  busi- 
ness, Loiseau  had  bought  his  master's  interest,  and 
made  a  fortune  for  himself.  He  sold  very  bad 
wine  at  a  very  low  price  to  the  retail  dealers  in 


BALL-OF-SUET  11 

the  country,  and  had  the  reputation,  among  his 
friends  and  acquaintances,  of  being  a  cunning 
rogue,  a  true  Norman,  full  of  tricks  and  wiles.  So 
well  established  was  his  character  as  a  cheat  that, 
in  the  mouths  of  the  citizens  of  Rouen,  the  very 
name  of  Loiseau  became  a  byword  for  trickery. 

Besides  this,  Loiseau  was  noted  for  his  practi- 
cal jokes  of  every  description,  good  or  ill-natured ; 
and  no  one  could  mention  his  name  without  add- 
ing at  once:  "He's  an  extraordinary  man — 
Loiseau."  He  was  undersized  and  pot-bellied,  and 
had  a  florid  face  with  a  grayish  beard. 

His  wife — tall,  strong,  determined,  with  a  loud 
voice  and  decided  manner — represented  the  spirit  of 
order  and  arithmetic  in  the  business  house  which 
Loiseau  enlivened  by  his  jovial  activity. 

Beside  them,  dignified  in  bearing,  belonging  to 
a  superior  caste,  sat  Monsieur  Carre-Lamadon,  a 
man  of  considerable  importance,  a  king  in  the  cot- 
ton trade,  proprietor  of  three  spinning-mills,  officer 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  and  member  of  the  Gen- 
eral Council.  During  the  whole  time  the  Empire 
was  in  the  ascendency  he  remained  the  chief  of  the 
well-disposed  Opposition,  merely  in  order  to  com- 
mand a  higher  value  for  his  devotion  when  he 
should  rally  to  the  cause  which  he  meanwhile  op- 
posed with  "courteous  weapons,"  to  use  his  own 
expression. 

Madame  Carre-Lamadon,  much  younger  than  her 
husband,  was  the  consolation  of  all  the  officers  of 


12  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

good  family  quartered  at  Rouen.  Pretty,  slender, 
graceful,  she  sat  opposite  her  husband,  nestling  in 
her  furs,  and  gazing  mournfully  at  the  forlorn  in- 
terior of  the  coach. 

Her  neighbors,  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  Hubert 
de  Breville,  bore  one  of  the  noblest  and  most  an- 
cient names  in  Normandy.  The  Count,  a  nobleman 
advanced  in  years  and  of  aristocratic  bearing,  strove 
to  enhance,  by  every  artifice  of  the  toilet,  his  nat- 
ural resemblance  to  King  Henry  IV,  who,  according 
to  a  legend  of  which  the  family  were  inordinately 
proud,  had  been  the  favored  lover  of  a  De  Bre- 
ville lady,  and  father  of  her  child — the  frail  one's 
husband,  in  recognition  of  this  fact,  having  been 
made  a  count  and  governor  of  a  province. 

A  colleague  of  Monsieur  Carre-Lamadon  in  the 
General  Council,  Count  Hubert  represented  the 
Orleanist  party  in  his  department.  The  story  of 
his  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  a  small  ship- 
owner at  Nantes  had  always  remained  something 
of  a  mystery.  But  as  the  Countess  had  an  air  of 
unmistakable  good  breeding,  entertained  faultlessly. 
and  was  even  supposed  to  have  been  loved  by  a  son 
of  Louis-Philippe,  the  nobility  vied  with  one  an- 
other in  doing  her  honor,  and  her  drawing-room  re- 
mained the  choicest  in  the  whole  countryside — the 
only  one  that  retained  the  old  spirit  of  gallantry, 
and  to  which  access  was  not  easy. 

It  was  said  the  fortune  of  the  Brevilles,  all  in 
real  estate,  amounted  to  five  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year. 


BALL-OF-SUET  13 

These  six  persons  occupied  the  farther  end  of  the 
coach,  and  represented  Society — with  an  income — 
the  strong,  established  society  of  good  people  with 
religion  and  principle,  with  whom  life  passed  hap- 
pily and  easily. 

It  happened  by  chance  that  all  the  women  were 
seated  on  the  same  side;  and  the  Countess  had 
also  for  neighbors  two  nuns,  who  spent  the  time 
in  fingering  their  long  rosaries  and  murmuring 
paternosters  and  aves.  One  of  them  was  old,  and 
so  deeply  pitted  with  smallpox  that  she  looked  as 
if  she  had  received  a  charge  of  bird-shot  full  in 
the  face.  The  other,  of  sickly  appearance,  had  a 
pretty  but  wasted  countenance,  and  a  narrow,  con- 
sumptive chest;  she  was  sapped  by  that  devouring 
faith  which  is  the  making  of  martyrs  and  vision- 
aries. 

Sitting  opposite  the  two  nuns  were  a  man  and  a 
woman,  who  attracted  all  eyes.  The  man — a  well- 
known  character — was  Cornudet,  the  democrat,  the 
terror  of  all  respectable  persons.  For  twenty 
years  his  big  red  beard  had  been  on  terms  of  in- 
timate acquaintance  with  the  tankards  of  all  the 
republican  cafes.  With  the  help  of  his  comrades 
and  brethren  he  had  dissipated  a  respectable  for- 
tune left  him  by  his  father,  a  long-established  con- 
fectioner, and  he  now  impatiently  awaited  the  Re- 
public, that  he  might  at  last  be  rewarded  with  the 
office  he  had  earned  by  his  revolutionary  orgies. 
On  the  fourth  of  September — possibly  as  the  re- 


14  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

suit  of  a  practical  joke — he  was  led  to  believe  that 
he  had  been  appointed  prefect;  but  when  he  at- 
tempted to  take  up  the  duties  of  the  office  the  clerks 
in  charge  refused  to  recognize  his  authority,  and 
he  was  compelled  in  consequence  to  retire.  A  good 
sort  of  fellow  in  other  respects,  inoffensive  and 
obliging,  he  had  thrown  himself  zealously  into  the 
work  of  making  an  organized  defense  of  the  town. 
He  had  had  pits  dug  in  the  level  country,  young 
forest  trees  felled,  and  traps  set  on  all  the  roads; 
then  at  the  approach  of  the  enemy,  thoroughly  sat- 
isfied with  his  preparations,  he  had  hastily  returned 
to  the  town.  He  thought  he  might  now  do  more 
good  at  Havre,  where  new  intrenchments  would 
soon  be  necessary. 

The  woman,  who  belonged  to  the  courtesan  class, 
was  celebrated  for  stoutness  of  figure  unusual  for 
her  age,  which  had  obtained  for  her  the  nickname 
of  "Boule  de  Suif"  (Ball-of-Suet).  Short  and 
round,  fat  as  a  pig,  with  puffy  fingers  constricted  at 
the  joints,  looking  like  rows  of  short  sausages;  with 
a  shining,  tight-stretched  skin  and  an  enormous  bust 
filling  out  her  bodice,  she  was  nevertheless  attrac- 
tive and  was  much  sought  after,  owing  to  her 
fresh  and  pleasing  appearance.  Her  face  was  like 
a  crimson  apple,  a  peony-bud  just  bursting  into 
bloom ;  she  had  magnificent  dark  eyes,  fringed  with 
thick,  heavy  lashes,  which  cast  a  shadow  into  their 
depths;  her  mouth  was  small,  ripe,  kissable,  and 
was  furnished  with  the  tiniest  of  white  teeth. 


BALL-OF-SUET  15 

As  soon  as  she  was  recognized  the  respectable 
matrons  of  the  party  began  to  whisper  among  them- 
selves, and  the  words  "hussy"  and  "public  scan- 
dal" were  spoken  so  loudly  that  Boule  de  Suif 
raised  her  head.  She  cast  such  a  challenging,  bold 
look  at  her  neighbors  that  sudden  silence  fell  on  the 
company,  and  all  lowered  their  eyes,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Loiseau,  who  watched  her  with  evident 
interest. 

Conversation  was  soon  resumed  among  the  three 
ladies,  whom  the  presence  of  this  girl  had  sud- 
denly drawn  together  in  the  bonds  of  friendship 
— one  might  almost  say  in  those  of  intimacy.  They 
decided  that  they  ought  to  combine,  as  it  were,  in 
their  dignity  as  wives  in  face  of  this  shameless 
hussy ;  for  legitimized  love  always  despises  its  easy- 
going brother. 

The  three  men,  also,  brought  together  by  a  cer- 
tain conservative  instinct  awakened  by  the  pres- 
ence of  Cornudet,  spoke  of  money  matters  in  a  tone 
expressive  of  contempt  for  the  poor.  Count  Hubert 
related  the  losses  he  had  sustained  at  the  hands  of 
the  Prussians,  spoke  of  the  cattle  that  had  been 
stolen  from  him,  of  crops  that  had  been  ruined, 
with  the  easy  manner  of  a  nobleman  who  was  also 
a  tenfold  millionaire,  and  whom  such  reverses 
would  hardly  inconvenience  for  a  single  year. 
Monsieur  Carre-Lamadon,  a  man  of  wide  experi- 
ence in  the  cotton  industry,  had  taken  care  to  send 
six  hundred  thousand  francs  to  England  as  pro- 


16  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

vision  against  the  rainy  day  he  was  always  antici- 
pating. As  for  Loiseau,  he  had  managed  to  sell  to 
the  French  commissariat  department  all  the  wines 
he  had  in  stock,  so  that  the  State  now  owed  him 
a  considerable  sum,  which  he  hoped  to  receive  at 
Havre. 

The  three  men  eyed  one  another  in  friendly,  well- 
disposed  fashion.  Although  of  varying  social  status, 
they  were  united  in  the  brotherhood  of  money — in 
that  vast  freemasonry  made  up  of  those  who  pos- 
sess, who  can  jingle  gold  whenever  they  choose  to 
put  their  hands  into  their  breeches'  pockets. 

The  coach  went  so  slowly  that  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning  it  had  not  covered  twelve  miles. 
Three  times  the  men  of  the  party  got  out  and 
climbed  the  hills  on  foot.  The  passengers  were 
becoming  uneasy,  for  they  had  counted  on  lunching 
at  Totes,  and  it  appeared  now  as  if  they  would 
hardly  arrive  there  before  nightfall.  Every  one  was 
eagerly  looking  out  for  an  inn  by  the  roadside, 
when  suddenly  the  coach  stuck  fast  in  a  snowdrift, 
and  it  took  two  hours  to  extricate  it. 

As  appetites  increased,  their  spirits  fell;  no  inn, 
no  wine-shop  could  be  discovered,  the  approach  of 
the  Prussians  and  the  transit  of  the  starving  French 
troops  having  frightened  away  all  business  for  some 
time. 

The  men  asked  for  food  in  the  farmhouses  beside 
the  road,  but  could  not  find  so  much  as  a  crust  of 
bread ;  for  the  suspicious  peasant  invariably  hid  his 


BALL-OF-SUET  17 

stores  for  fear  of  being  robbed  by  the  soldiers, 
who,  being  entirely  without  food,  would  take  vio- 
lent possession  of  everything  they  found. 

About  one  o'clock  Loiseau  announced  that  he 
positively  had  a  great  hollow  in  his  stomach.  They 
had  all  been  suffering  in  the  same  way  for  some 
time,  and  the  increasing  pangs  of  hunger  had  put 
an  end  to  all  conversation. 

Now  and  then  some  one  yawned,  another  fol- 
lowed his  example,  and  each  in  turn,  according  to 
his  character,  breeding,  and  social  station,  yawned 
either  quietly  or  noisily,  placing  his  hand  before  the 
gaping  void  whence  issued  breath  condensed  into 
vapor. 

Several  times  Boule  de  Suif  bent  over,  as  if 
searching  for  something  under  her  skirts.  She 
would  hesitate  a  moment,  look  at  her  neighbors,  and 
then  quietly  sit  upright  again.  All  faces  were  pale 
and  drawn.  Loiseau  declared  he  would  give  a 
thousand  francs  for  a  knuckle  of  ham.  His  wife 
made  an  involuntary  and  quickly  checked  gesture  of 
protest.  It  always  hurt  her  to  hear  of  money  being 
squandered,  and  she  could  not  even  understand 
jokes  on  such  a  subject. 

"Really,  I  don't  feel  at  all  well,"  said  the  Count. 
"Why  did  I  not  think  of  bringing  some  food?" 
Each  one  reproached  himself  in  similar  terms. 

Cornudet,  however,  had  a  bottle  of  rum,  which  he 
offered  to  his  neighbors.  They  all  coldly  refused 
except  Loiseau,  who  took  a  sip,  and  returned  the 


18  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

bottle  with  thanks,  saying:  "That's  good;  it  warms 
one  up,  and  cheats  the  appetite."  The  alcohol  put 
him  in  good  humor,  and  he  proposed  they  should 
do  as  the  sailors  did  in  the  song:  eat  the  fattest 
of  the  passengers.  This  indirect  allusion  to  Boule 
de  Suif  shocked  the  respectable  members  of  the 
party.  No  one  replied ;  only  Cornudet  smiled.  The 
two  good  sisters  had  ceased  to  mumble  their  rosary, 
and,  with  hands  enfolded  in  their  wide  sleeves,  sat 
motionless,  their  eyes  steadfastly  cast  down,  doubt- 
less offering  up  as  a  sacrifice  to  Heaven  the  suffer- 
ing it  had  sent  them. 

At  last,  at  three  o'clock,  as  they  were  in  the 
midst  of  an  apparently  boundless  plain,  with  not  a 
single  village  in  sight,  Boule  de  Suif  stooped  quickly, 
and  drew  from  under  the  seat  a  large  basket  cov- 
ered with  a  white  napkin. 

From  this  she  extracted  first  a  small  earthen- 
ware plate  and  a  silver  drinking-cup,  then  an  enor- 
mous dish  containing  two  whole  chickens  cut  into 
joints  and  imbedded  in  jelly.  The  basket  contained 
other  good  things :  pies,  fruit,  dainties  of  all  sorts 
— provisions,  in  short,  for  a  three  days'  journey, 
rendering  their  owner  independent  of  wayside  inns. 
The  necks  of  four  bottles  protruded  from  the 
midst  of  the  food.  She  took  a  chicken  wing,  and 
began  to  eat  it  daintily,  with  one  of  those  rolls 
called  in  Normandy  "regence." 

All  eyes  were  directed  toward  her.  An  odor 
of  food  filled  the  air,  causing  nostrils  to  dilate, 


BALL-OF-SUET  19 

mouths  to  water,  and  jaws  to  contract  painfully. 
The  scorn  of  the  ladies  for  this  disreputable  female 
grew  positively  ferocious ;  they  would  have  liked  to 
kill  her,  or  throw  her  and  her  drinking-cup,  her 
basket,  and  her  provisions,  out  of  the  coach  into 
the  snowy  road. 

But  Loiseau's  gaze  was  fixed  greedily  on  the 
chickens. 

"Well,  well,  this  lady  had  more  forethought  than 
the  rest  of  us,"  he  said.  "Some  people  think  of 
everything." 

Boule  de  Suif  looked  up  at  him. 

"Would  you  like  some,  Monsieur?  It  is  hard  to 
go  on  fasting  all  day." 

He  bowed. 

"Upon  my  soul,  I  can't  refuse;  I  cannot  hold  out 
another  minute.  All  is  fair  in  war  time,  is  it  not, 
Madame?"  And,  casting  a  glance  on  those  around, 
he  added :  "At  times  like  this  it  is  very  pleasant  to 
meet  with  obliging  persons." 

He  spread  a  newspaper  over  his  knees  to  avoid 
soiling  his  trousers,  and,  with  a  pocket-knife  he 
always  carried,  helped  himself  to  a  chicken-leg, 
covered  with  jelly,  which  he  thereupon  proceeded  to 
devour. 

Then  Boule  de  Suif,  in  low,  humble  tones,  invited 
the  nuns  to  partake  of  her  repast.  Both  accepted 
the  offer  unhesitatingly,  and  after  a  few  stam- 
mered words  of  thanks  began  to  eat  quickly,  with- 
out looking  up.  Neither  did  Cornudet  refuse  his 


20  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

neighbor's  offer,  and,  in  combination  with  the  nuns, 
a  sort  of  table  was  formed  by  opening  out  the  news- 
paper over  the  four  pairs  of  knees. 

Mouths  kept  opening  and  shutting,  ferociously 
masticating  and  devouring  the  food.  Loiseau,  in 
his  corner,  was  very  busy,  and  in  low  tones  urged 
his  wife  to  follow  his  example.  She  held  out  for  a 
long  time,  but  overstrained  nature  gave  way  at  last. 
Her  husband,  assuming  his  politest  manner,  asked 
their  "charming  companion"  if  he  might  be  allowed 
to  offer  Madame  Loiseau  a  small  helping. 

"Certainly,  Monsieur,"  she  replied,  with  an  ami- 
able smile,  holding  out  the  dish. 

When  the  first  bottle  of  claret  was  opened  some 
embarrassment  was  caused  by  the  fact  that  there 
was  only  one  drinking-cup,  but  this  was  passed 
from  one  to  another,  after  being  wiped.  Cornudet 
alone,  doubtless  in  a  spirit  of  gallantry,  raised  to 
his  own  lips  that  part  of  the  rim  which  was  still 
moist  from  those  of  his  fair  neighbor. 

Then,  surrounded  by  people  who  were  eating,  and 
almost  suffocated  by  the  odor  of  food,  the  Comte 
and  Comtesse  de  Breville  and  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Carre-Lamadon  endured  that  hateful  form 
of  torture  which  has  perpetuated  the  name  of  Tan- 
talus. All  at  once  the  manufacturer's  young  wife 
heaved  a  sigh  which  made  every  one  turn  and  look 
at  her;  she  was  as  white  as  the  snow  without;  her 
eyes  closed,  her  head  fell  forward ;  she  had  fainted. 
Her  husband,  beside  himself,  implored  the  help  of 


BALL-OF-SUET  21 

his  neighbors.  No  one  seemed  to  know  what  to  do 
until  the  elder  of  the  two  nuns,  raising  the  patient's 
head,  held  Boule  de  Suif's  drinking-cup  to  her 
lips,  and  made  her  swallow  a  few  drops  of  wine, 
The  pretty  invalid  moved,  opened  her  eyes,  smiled, 
and  declared  in  a  feeble  voice  that  she  was  herself 
again.  But,  to  prevent  a  recurrence  of  the  catas- 
trophe, the  nun  made  her  drink  a  cupful  of  claret, 
adding:  "It's  only  hunger — that's  what  is  wrong 
with  you." 

Then  Boule  de  Suif,  blushing  and  embarrassed, 
stammered,  looking  at  the  four  passengers  who  were 
still  fasting: 

"Mon  Dieu,  if  I  might  offer  these  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen  " 

She  stopped  short,  fearing  a  snub.  But  Loiseau 
continued : 

"Hang  it  all,  in  such  a  case  as  this  we  are  all 
brothers  and  sisters  and  ought  to  assist  each  other. 
Come,  come,  ladies,  don't  stand  on  ceremony,  for 
goodness'  sake!  Do  we  even  know  whether  we 
shall  find  a  house  in  which  to  pass  the  night?  At 
our  present  rate  we  shan't  be  at  Totes  till  midday 
to-morrow." 

They  hesitated,  no  one  daring  to  be  the  first  to 
accept.  But  the  Count  settled  the  question.  He 
turned  toward  the  abashed  girl,  and  in  his  most  dis- 
tinguished manner  said: 

"We  accept  gratefully,  Madame." 

As  usual,  it  was  only  the  first  step  that  cost.  The 


22  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Rubicon  once  crossed,  they  set  to  work  with  a  will. 
The  basket  was  emptied.  It  still  contained  a  pate 
de  foie  gras,  a  lark  pie,  a  piece  of  smoked  tongue, 
Crassane  pears,  Pont-Leveque  gingerbread,  fancy 
cakes,  and  a  cup  full  of  pickled  gherkins  and  onions 
— Boul  de  Suif,  like  all  women,  being  very  fond 
of  indigestible  things. 

Of  course,  they  could  not  eat  this  girl's  food 
without  speaking  to  her.  So  they  began  to  talk, 
stiffly  at  first;  then,  as  she  seemed  by  no  means 
forward,  with  greater  freedom.  Mesdames  de 
Breville  and  Carre-Lamadon,  who  were  accom- 
plished women  of  the  world,  were  gracious  and  tact- 
ful. The  Countess  especially  displayed  that  ami- 
able condescension  characteristic  of  great  ladies 
whom  no  contact  with  baser  mortals  can  sully,  and 
was  absolutely  charming.  But  the  sturdy  Madame 
Loiseau,  who  had  the  soul  of  a  gendarme,  con- 
tinued morose,  speaking  little  and  eating  much. 

Conversation  naturally  turned  on  the  war.  Ter- 
rible stories  were  told  about  the  Prussians,  deeds  of 
bravery  were  recounted  of  the  French;  and  all 
these  people  who  were  fleeing  themselves  were  ready 
to  pay  homage  to  the  courage  of  their  compatriots. 
Personal  experiences  soon  followed,  and  Boule  de 
Suif  related  with  genuine  emotion,  and  with  that 
warmth  of  language  not  uncommon  in  women  of 
her  class  and  temperament,  how  it  happened  that 
she  had  left  Rouen. 

"I  thought  at  first  that  I  should  be  able  to  stay," 


BALL-OF-STJET  23 

she  said.  "My  house  was  well  stocked  with  pro- 
visions, and  it  seemed  better  to  put  up  with  feeding 
a  few  soldiers  than  to  banish  myself  heaven  knows 
where.  But  when  I  saw  these  Prussians  it  was  too 
much  for  me !  My  blood  boiled  with  rage ;  I  wept 
the  whole  day  for  very  shame.  Oh,  if  only  I  had 
been  a  man !  I  looked  at  them  from  my  window — 
the  fat  pigs,  with  their  pointed  helmets! — and  my 
maid  held  my  hands  to  keep  me  from  throwing  my 
furniture  down  on  them.  Then  some  of  them  were 
quartered  in  my  house;  I  flew  at  the  throat  of  the 
first  one  who  entered.  They  are  as  easy  to  strangle 
as  other  men!  I  should  have  been  the  death  of 
that  one  if  I  hadn't  been  dragged  away  from  him  by 
my  hair.  I  had  to  hide  after  that.  As  soon  as  I 
could  find  an  opportunity  I  left  the  place,  and  here 
I  am." 

They  warmly  congratulated  her.  She  rose  in  the 
estimation  of  her  companions,  who  had  not  been 
so  brave;  and  Corudet  listened  to  her  with  the 
approving  and  benevolent  smile  of  an  apostle,  the 
smile  a  priest  might  wear  in  listening  to  a  disciple 
praising  God;  for  long-bearded  democrats  of  his 
type  have  a  monopoly  of  patriotism,  as  priests  have 
a  monopoly  of  religion.  He  held  forth  in  turn, 
with  dogmatic  self-assurance,  in  the  style  of  the 
proclamations  daily  pasted  on  the  walls  of  the  town, 
winding  up  with  a  specimen  of  stump  oratory  in 
which  he  reviled  "that  besotted  fool  of  a  Louis 
Napoleon." 


24  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

But  Boule  de  Suif  was  indignant,  for  she  was  an 
ardent  Bonapartist.  She  turned  as  red  as  a  cherry, 
and  stammered  in  her  anger :  "I'd  like  to  have  seen 
you  in  his  place — you  and  your  kind.  There  would 
have  been  some  sense  in  that.  It  was  you  who  be- 
trayed that  man.  It  would  be  impossible  to  live  in 
France  if  we  were  governed  by  such  rascals  as 
you !" 

Cornudet,  unmoved  by  this  tirade,  still  smiled  a 
superior,  contemptuous  smile;  and  one  felt  that 
high  words  were  impending,  when  the  Count  inter- 
posed, and,  not  without  difficulty,  succeeded  in 
calming  the  exasperated  woman,  saying  that  all 
sincere  opinions  should  be  respected.  But  the 
Countess  and  the  manufacturer's  wife,  imbued  with 
the  unreasoning  hatred  of  the  upper  classes  for 
the  Republic,  and  instinct,  moreover,  with  the  af- 
fection felt  by  all  women  for  the  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance of  despotic  government,  were  drawn,  in 
spite  of  themselves  towards  this  dignified  young 
woman,  whose  opinions  coincided  so  closely  with 
their  own. 

The  basket  was  empty.  The  ten  persons  had  fin- 
ished its  contents  without  difficulty  amid  general 
regret  that  it  did  not  hold  more.  Conversation 
went  on  a  little  longer,  though  it  flagged  somewhat 
after  the  passengers  had  finished  eating. 

Night  fell,  the  darkness  grew  more  intense,  and 
the  cold  made  Boule  de  Suif  shiver,  in  spite  of 
her  plumpness.  So  Madame  de  Breville  offered 


BALL-OF-SUET  25 

her  her  foot-warmer,  the  fuel  of  which  had  been 
several  times  renewed  since  the  morning,  and  she 
accepted  the  offer  at  once,  for  her  feet  were  icy 
cold.  Mesdames  Carre-Lamadon  and  Loiseau  gave 
theirs  to  the  nuns. 

The  driver  lighted  his  lanterns.  They  cast  a 
bright  gleam  on  a  cloud  of  vapor  which  hovered 
over  the  sweating  flanks  of  the  horses  and  on  the 
roadside  snow,  which  seemed  to  unroll  as  they  went 
along  in  the  changing  light  of  the  lamps. 

All  was  now  indistinguishable  in  the  coach;  but 
suddenly  a  movement  occurred  in  the  corner  occu- 
pied by  Boule  de  Suif  and  Cornudet;  and  Loiseau, 
peering  into  the  gloom,  fancied  he  saw  the  big, 
bearded  democrat  move  hastily  to  one  side,  as  if 
he  had  received  a  well-directed,  though  noiseless, 
blow  in  the  darkness. 

Tiny  lights  glimmered  ahead.  It  was  Totes.  The 
coach  had  been  on  the  road  eleven  hours,  which, 
with  the  three  hours  allotted  the  horses  in  four 
periods  for  feeding  and  breathing,  made  fourteen. 
It  entered  the  town,  and  stopped  before  the  Hotel 
du  Commerce. 

The  coach  door  opened ;  a  well-known  noise  made 
all  the  travelers  start;  it  was  the  clanging  of  a 
scabbard  on  the  pavement;  then  a  voice  called  out 
something  in  German. 

Although  the  coach  had  come  to  a  standstill,  no 
one  got  out;  it  looked  as  if  they  were  afraid  of 
being  murdered  the  moment  they  left  their  seats. 

Vol.  1—3 


26  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Thereupon  the  driver  appeared,  holding  in  his  hand 
one  of  his  lanterns,  which  cast  a  sudden  glow  on 
the  interior  of  the  coach,  lighting  up  the  double 
row  of  startled  faces,  mouths  wide  open. 

Beside  the  driver  stood  in  the  full  light  a  German 
officer,  a  tall  young  man,  fair  and  slender,  tightly 
encased  in  his  uniform  like  a  woman  in  her  corset, 
his  flat  cap,  tilted  to  one  side  of  his  head,  making 
him  look  like  an  English  hotel  runner.  His  ex- 
aggerated moustache,  long  and  straight  and  taper- 
ing to  a  point  at  both  ends  in  a  single  blond  hair  that 
could  hardly  be  seen,  seemed  to  weigh  down  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  and  give  a  droop  to  his  lips. 

In  Alsatian  French  he  requested  the  travelers  to 
alight,  saying  stiffly: 

"Please  get  out,  ladies  and  gentlemen." 

The  two  nuns  were  the  first  to  obey,  manifesting 
the  docility  of  holy  women  accustomed  to  submis- 
sion on  every  occasion.  Next  appeared  the  Count 
and  Countess,  followed  by  the  manufacturer  and 
his  wife,  after  whom  came  Loiseau,  pushing  his 
larger  and  better  half  before  him. 

"Good-evening,  Monsieur,"  he  said  to  the  officer 
as  he  put  his  foot  to  the  ground,  acting  on  an  im- 
pulse born  of  prudence  rather  than  of  politeness. 
The  other,  insolent  like  all  in  authority,  only  stared 
without  replying. 

Boule  de  Suif  and  Cornudet,  though  near  the 
door,  were  the  last  to  alight,  grave  and  dignified 
before  the  enemy.  The  stout  girl  tried  to  control 


BALL-OF-SUET  27 

herself  and  appear  calm;  the  democrat  stroked  his 
long  sandy  beard  with  a  somewhat  shaky  hand. 
Both  tried  to  maintain  their  dignity,  knowing  well 
that  at  such  a  time  each  individual  is  always  looked 
upon  as  more  or  less  typical  of  his  nation ;  and,  also, 
resenting  the  complaisant  attitude  of  their  com- 
panions, Boule  de  Suif  tried  to  wear  a  bolder  front 
than  her  neighbors,  the  virtuous  women,  while  he, 
feeling  that  it  was  incumbent  on  him  to  set  a  good 
example,  kept  up  the  attitude  of  resistance  which 
he  had  first  assumed  when  he  undertook  to  mine 
the  highroads  round  Rouen. 

They  entered  the  spacious  kitchen  of  the  inn,  and 
the  German,  having  demanded  the  passports  signed 
by  the  general  in  command,  in  which  were  men- 
tioned the  name,  description,  and  profession  of  each 
traveler,  inspected  them  all  minutely,  comparing 
their  appearance  with  the  written  particulars. 

Then  he  said  brusquely:  "Very  well,"  and  turned 
away. 

They  breathed  freely.  They  were  still  hungry ;  so 
supper  was  ordered.  Half  an  hour  was  required 
for  its  preparation,  and  while  two  servants  were 
apparently  engaged  in  getting  it  ready  the  travelers 
went  to  look  at  their  rooms.  These  opened  off  a 
long  corridor,  at  the  end  of  which  was  a  glazed 
door  with  a  number  on  it. 

They  were  about  to  take  their  seats  at  table  when 
the  innkeeper  appeared  in  person.  He  was  a 
former  horse-dealer,  a  large,  asthmatic  person,  al- 


28  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ways  wheezing,  coughing,  and  clearing  his  throat. 
Follenvie  was  his  name. 

"Mademoiselle  Elizabeth  Rousset?"  he  said. 

Boul  de  Suif  started,  and  turned  around. 

"That  is  my  name." 

"Mademoiselle,  the  Prussian  officer  wishes  to 
speak  to  you  immediately." 

"To  me?" 

"Yes;  if  you  are  Mademoiselle  Rousset." 

She  hesitated,  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  de- 
clared roundly: 

"That  may  be;  but  I'm  not  going." 

Her  companions  moved  restlessly  around  her; 
everyone  wondered  and  speculated  as  to  the  cause 
of  this  order.  The  Count  approached: 

"You  are  wrong,  Madame,  for  your  refusal  may 
bring  trouble  not  only  on  yourself,  but  also  on  all 
your  companions.  It  is  never  wise  to  resist  those 
in  authority.  Your  compliance  with  this  request 
cannot  possibly  be  fraught  with  any  danger ;  it  has 
probably  been  made  because  some  formality  or 
other  was  forgotten." 

All  added  their  voices  to  that  of  the  Count; 
Boule  de  Suif  was  begged,  urged,  lectured,  and  at 
last  convinced;  everyone  was  afraid  of  the  compli- 
cations that  might  result  from  headstrong  action  on 
her  part.  She  said  finally : 

"I  am  doing  it  for  your  sakes,  remember  that!" 

The  Countess  took  her  hand.  "And  we  are  grate- 
ful to  you." 


BALL-OF-SUET  29 

She  left  the  room.  All  waited  for  her  return  be- 
fore beginning  to  eat.  Each  was  distressed  that 
he  or  she  had  not  been  sent  for  rather  than  this 
impulsive,  quick-tempered  girl,  and  dach  mentally 
rehearsed  platitudes  in  case  of  being  summoned 
also. 

But  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  she  reappeared, 
breathing  hard,  crimson  with  indignation. 

"Oh!  the  scoundrel!  the  scoundrel!"  she  stam- 
mered. 

All  were  anxious  to  know  what  had  happened; 
but  she  declined  to  enlighten  them,  and  when  the 
Count  pressed  the  point  she  silenced  him  with  much 
dignity,  saying: 

"No;  the  matter  has  nothing  to  do  with  you,  and 
I  cannot  speak  of  it." 

Then  they  took  their  places  round  a  high  soup 
tureen,  from  which  issued  an  odor  of  cabbage.  In 
spite  of  this  strange  incident,  the  supper  was  cheer- 
ful. The  cider  was  good ;  the  Loiseaus  and  the  nuns 
drank  it  from  motives  of  economy.  The  others 
ordered  wine;  Cornudet  demanded  beer.  He  had 
his  own  fashion  of  uncorking  the  bottle  and  making 
the  beer  foam,  gazing  at  it  as  he  inclined  his  glass 
and  then  raised  it  to  a  position  between  the  lamp 
and  his  eye  that  he  might  judge  of  its  color.  When 
he  drank,  his  great  beard,  which  matched  the  color 
of  his  favorite  beverage,  seemed  to  tremble  with 
affection ;  his  eyes  positively  squinted  in  the  en- 
<teavor  not  to  lose  sight  of  the  beloved  glass,  and 


30  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

he  looked  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  were  fulfilling 
the  only  function  for  which  he  was  born.  He 
seemed  to  have  established  in  his  mind  an  affinity 
between  the  two  great  passions  of  his  life — pale  ale 
and  revolution — and  assuredly  he  could  not  taste 
the  one  without  dreaming  of  the  other. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Follenvie  dined  at  the 
end  of  the  table.  The  man,  wheezing  like  a  broken- 
down  locomotive,  was  too  short-winded  to  talk  when 
he  was  eating.  But  his  wife  was  not  silent  a  mo- 
ment; she  told  how  the  Prussians  had  impressed 
her  on  their  arrival,  what  they  did,  what  they  said ; 
execrating  them  in  the  first  place  because  they  cost 
her  money,  and  in  the  second  because  she  had 
two  sons  in  the  army.  She  addressed  herself  prin- 
cipally to  the  Countess,  flattered  at  the  opportunity 
of  talking  to  a  lady  of  quality. 

Then  she  lowered  her  voice,  and  began  to  broach 
delicate  subjects.  Her  husband  interrupted  her. 

"You  would  do  well  to  hold  your  tongue,  Ma- 
dame Follenvie." 

But  she  took  no  notice  of  him,  and  went  on : 

"Yes,  Madame,  these  Germans  do  nothing  but 
eat  potatoes  and  pork,  and  then  pork  and  potatoes. 
And  don't  imagine  for  a  moment  that  they  are 
clean!  No,  indeed!  And  if  only  you  saw  them 
drilling  for  hours,  indeed  for  days,  together;  they 
all  collect  in  a  field,  then  they  do  nothing  but  march 
backward  and  forward,  and  wheel  this  way  and 
that.  If  only  they  would  cultivate  the  land,  or 


BALL-OF-SUET  31 

stay  at  home  and  work  on  their  roads!  Really, 
Madame,  these  soldiers  are  of  no  earthly  use! 
Poor  people  have  to  feed  and  keep  them,  only  in 
order  that  they  may  learn  how  to  kill !  True,  I  am 
only  an  old  woman  with  no  education,  but  when 
I  see  them  wearing  themselves  out  marching  about 
from  morning  till  night  I  say  to  myself:  When 
there  are  people  who  make  discoveries  that  are  of' 
use  to  people,  why  should  others  take  so  much 
trouble  to  do  harm  ?  Really,  now,  isn't  it  a  terrible 
thing  to  kill  people,  whether  they  are  Prussians,  or 
English,  or  Poles,  or  French?  If  we  revenge  our- 
selves on  any  one  who  injures  us  we  do  wrong,  and 
are  punished  for  it;  but  when  our  sons  are  shot 
down  like  partridges  that  is  all  right,  and  decora- 
tions are  given  to  the  man  who  kills  the  most.  No, 
indeed,  I  never  shall  be  able  to  understand  it." 

Cormidet  raised  his  voice: 

"War  is  a  barbarous  proceeding  when  we  attack 
a  peaceful  neighbor,  but  it  is  a  sacred  duty  when 
undertaken  in  defense  of  one's  country." 

The  old  woman  looked  down. 

"Yes;  it's  another  matter  when  one  acts  in  self- 
defense;  but  would  it  not  be  better  to  kill  all  the 
kings,  seeing  that  they  make  war  only  to  amuse 
themselves?" 

Cornudet's  eyes  kindled. 

"Bravo,  citizens!"  he  said. 

Monsieur  Carre-Lamadon  was  reflecting  pro- 
foundly. Although  an  ardent  admirer  of  great  gen- 


32  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

erals  the  peasant  woman's  sturdy  common-sense 
made  him  reflect  on  the  wealth  that  might  accrue 
to  a  country  by  the  employment  of  so  many  idle 
hands  now  maintained  at  a  great  expense,  of  so 
much  unproductive  force,  if  they  were  employed  in 
those  great  industrial  enterprises  which  it  will  take 
centuries  to  complete. 

•  But  Loiseau,  leaving  his  seat,  went  over  to  the 
innkeeper  and  began  chatting  in  a  low  voice.  The 
big  man  chuckled,  coughed,  sputtered ;  his  enormous 
body  shook  with  merriment  at  the  jokes  of  the 
other;  and  he  ended  by  buying  six  casks  of  claret 
from  Loiseau  to  be  delivered  in  spring,  after  the 
departure  of  the  Prussians. 

The  moment  supper  was  over  every  one  went  to 
bed,  exhausted. 

But  Loiseau,  who  had  been  making  quiet  observa- 
tions, sent  his  wife  to  bed,  and  amused  himself 
by  placing  first  his  ear,  then  his  eye,  to  the  bed- 
room keyhole,  in  order  to  discover  what  he  called 
"the  mysteries  of  the  corridor." 

At  the  end  of  about  an  hour  he  heard  a  rustling, 
peeped  out  quickly,  and  caught  sight  of  Boule  de 
Suif,  looking  rounder  and  fatter  than  ever  in  a 
dressing-gown  of  blue  cashmere  trimmed  with  white 
lace.  She  held  a  candle  in  her  hand  and  directed 
her  steps  to  the  numbered  door  at  the  end  of  the 
corridor.  But  one  of  the  side  doors  was  partly 
open,  and  when,  after  a  few  minutes,  she  returned, 
Cornudet,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  followed  her.  They 


BALL-OF-SUET  33 

spoke  in  low  tones,  then  stopped  short.  Boule  de 
Suif  seemed  to  be  firmly  denying  him  admission  to 
her  room.  Unfortunately,  Loiseau  could  not  at 
first  hear  what  they  said ;  but  toward  the  end  of  the 
conversation  they  raised  their  voices,  and  he  caught 
a  few  words.  Cornudet  was  loudly  insistent. 

"How  silly  you  are!  What  does  it  matter  to 
you?"  he  said. 

She  seemed  indignant,  and  replied: 

"No,  my  good  man,  there  are  times  when  one 
does  not  do  that  sort  of  thing ;  besides,  in  this  place 
it  would  be  shameful." 

Apparently  he  did  not  understand,  and  asked  the 
reason.  Then  she  lost  her  temper  and  her  caution, 
and,  speaking  still  louder,  said: 

"Why?  Can't  you  understand  why?  When 
there  are  Prussians  in  the  house !  Perhaps  even  in 
the  very  next  room!" 

He  was  silent.  The  patriotic  shame  of  this  wan- 
ton, who  would  not  allow  herself  to  be  caressed  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  enemy,  must  have  roused 
his  dormant  dignity,  for  after  bestowing  on  her  a 
simple  kiss  he  crept  quietly  back  to  his  room.  Loi- 
seau, much  edified,  capered  around  the  bedroom  be- 
fore taking  his  place  beside  his  sleeping  spouse. 

Then  silence  reigned  throughout  the  house.  But 
presently  from  some  remote  part — it  might  easily 
have  been  either  cellar  or  attic — arose  a  stertorous, 
monotonous,  regular  snoring,  a  dull,  prolonged  rum- 
bling, varied  by  tremors  like  those  of  a  boiler  under 


34  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

pressure  of  steam.  Monsieur  Follenvie  had  gone  to 
sleep,  and  was  announcing  that  fact  in  his  usual 
manner. 

As  they  had  decided  on  setting  out  at  eight  o'clock 
the  next  morning,  everyone  was  in  the  kitchen  at 
that  hour;  but  the  coach,  its  roof  covered  with 
snow,  stood  by  itself  in  the  middle  of  the  yard,  with- 
out either  horses  or  driver.  They  sought  the  latter 
in  the  stables,  coach-houses,  and  barns — but  in  vain. 
So  the  men  of  the  party  resolved  to  search  every- 
where for  him,  and  sallied  forth.  They  found  them- 
selves in  the  square,  with  the  church  at  the  farther 
side,  and  to  right  and  left  low-roofed  houses  where 
there  were  some  Prussian  soldiers.  The  first  sol- 
dier they  saw  was  peeling  potatoes.  The  second 
was  washing  out  a  barber's  shop.  Another,  bearded 
to  the  eyes,  was  fondling  a  crying  baby,  and  dand- 
ling it  on  his  knees  to  quiet  it ;  and  the  stout  peasant 
women,  whose  men- folk  were  for  the  most  part 
at  the  war,  were,  by  means  of  signs,  telling  their 
obedient  conquerors  what  work  they  were  to  do: 
chop  wood,  prepare  soup,  grind  coffee ;  one  of  them 
was  doing  the  washing  for  his  hostess,  an  infirm 
old  grandmother. 

The  Count,  astonished  at  what  he  saw,  questioned 
the  beadle,  who  was  coming  out  of  the  presbytery. 
The  old  man  answered : 

"Oh,  those  men  are  not  at  all  a  bad  sort;  they 
are  not  Prussians,  I  am  told ;  they  come  from  some- 
where farther  off,  I  don't  exactly  know  where. 


BALL-OF-SUET  35 

And  they  have  all  left  wives  and  children  be- 
hind them;  they  are  not  fond  of  war  either,  you 
may  be  sure!  I  am  sure  they  are  mourning  for 
the  men  where  they  came  from,  just  as  we  do  here; 
and  the  war  causes  them  as  much  unhappiness  as  it 
causes  us.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  things  are  not  so 
very  bad  here  just  now,  because  the  soldiers  do  no 
harm,  and  work  as  if  they  were  in  their  own 
houses.  You  see,  sir,  poor  folk  always  help  one 
another;  it  is  the  great  ones  of  this  world  who 
make  war." 

Cornudet,  indignant  at  the  friendly  understand- 
ing established  between  conquerors  and  conquered, 
withdrew,  preferring  to  shut  himself  up  in  the  inn. 

"They  are  repeopling  the  country,"  jested  Loi- 
seau. 

"They  are  undoing  the  harm  they  have  done," 
said  Monsieur  Carre-Lamadon  gravely. 

But  they  could  not  find  the  coach-driver.  At 
last  he  was  discovered  in  the  village  cafe,  fraterniz- 
ing cordially  with  the  officer's  orderly. 

"Were  you  not  told  to  harness  the  horses  at 
eight  o'clock  ?"  demanded  the  Count. 

"Oh,  yes;  but  I've  had  different  orders  since." 

"What  orders?" 

"Not  to  harness  at  all." 

"Who  gave  you  such  orders?" 

"Why,  the  Prussian  officer." 

"But  why?" 

"I  don't  know.    Go  and  ask  him.    I  am  forbidden 


36  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

to  harness  the  horses,  so  I  don't  harness  them — 
that's  all." 

"Did  he  tell  you  so  himself?" 

"No,  sir;  the  innkeeper  gave  me  the  order  from 
him." 

"When?" 

"Last  night,  just  as  I  was  going  to  bed." 

The  three  men  returned  in  a  very  uneasy  frame 
of  mind. 

They  asked  for  Monsieur  Follenvie,  but  the  serv- 
ant replied  that  on  account  of  his  asthma  he  never 
got  up  before  ten  o'clock.  They  were  strictly  for- 
bidden to  rouse  him  earlier,  except  in  case  of  fire. 

They  wished  to  see  the  officer,  but  that  also  was 
impossible,  although  he  slept  in  the  inn.  Mon- 
sieur Follenvie  alone  was  authorized  to  interview 
him  on  civil  matters.  So  they  waited.  The  women 
returned  to  their  rooms,  and  occupied  themselves 
with  trivial  matters. 

Cornudet  settled  down  beside  the  tall  kitchen 
fireplace,  before  a  blazing  fire.  He  had  a  small  table 
and  a  jug  of  beer  placed  beside  him,  and  he  smoked 
his  pipe — a  pipe  which  enjoyed  among  democrats  a 
consideration  almost  equal  to  his  own,  as  though  it 
had  served  its  country  in  serving  Cornudet.  It  was 
a  fine  meerschaum,  admirably  colored  to  a  black 
the  shade  of  its  owner's  teeth,  but  sweet-smelling, 
gracefully  curved,  at  home  in  its  master's  hand  and 
completing  his  physiognomy.  And  Cornudet  sat  mo- 
tionless, his  eyes  fixed  now  on  the  dancing  flames, 


BALL-OF-SUET  37 

now  on  the  froth  that  crowned  his  beer;  and  after 
each  draught  he  passed  his  long,  thin  fingers  with 
an  air  of  satisfaction  through  his  long,  greasy  hair, 
as  he  sucked  the  foam  from  his  moustache. 

Loiseau,  under  pretense  of  stretching  his  legs, 
went  out  to  see  whether  he  could  sell  wine  to  the 
country  dealers.  The  Count  and  the  manufacturer 
began  to  talk  politics.  They  forecast  the  future  of 
France.  One  believed  in  the  Orleans  dynasty,  the 
other  in  an  unknown  savior — a  hero  who  should 
rise  up  in  the  last  extremity:  a  Du  Guesclin,  per- 
haps a  Joan  of  Arc?  or  another  Napoleon  the  First? 
Ah!  if  only  the  Prince  Imperial  were  not  so  young! 
Cornudet,  listening  to  them,  smiled  like  a  man  who 
holds  the  keys  of  destiny  in  his  hands.  His  pipe 
perfumed  the  whole  kitchen. 

As  the  clock  struck  ten,  Monsieur  Follenvie  ap- 
peared. He  was  immediately  surrounded  and  ques- 
tioned, but  could  only  repeat,  three  or  four  times  in 
succession,  and  without  variation,  the  words: 

"The  officer  said  to  me,  like  this:  'Monsieur 
Follenvie,  you  will  forbid  them  to  harness  the 
horses  for  those  travelers  tomorrow.  They  are  not 
to  go  without  an  order  from  me.  You  hear?  That 
is  sufficient.'  " 

Then  they  asked  to  see  the  officer.  The  Count 
sent  him  his  card,  on  which  Monsieur  Carre-Lama- 
don  also  inscribed  his  name  and  titles.  The  Prus- 
sian sent  word  that  the  two  men  would  be  admitted 
to  see  him  after  his  luncheon — about  one  o'clock. 


38  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

The  ladies  reappeared,  and  they  all  ate  a  little, 
in  spite  of  their  anxiety.  Boule  de  Suif  appeared 
ill  and  very  much  worried. 

They  were  finishing  their  coffee  when  the  orderly 
came  to  fetch  the  gentlemen. 

Loiseau  joined  the  other  two;  but  when  they 
tried  to  get  Cornudet  to  accompany  them,  by  way 
of  adding  greater  solemnity  to  the  occasion,  he  de- 
clared proudly  that  he  never  would  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  Germans,  and,  resuming  his  seat  in 
the  chimney  corner,  he  called  for  another  jug  of 
beer. 

The  three  men  went  upstairs,  and  were  ushered 
into  the  best  room  in  the  inn,  where  the  officer  re- 
ceived them  lolling  at  his  ease  in  an  armchair,  his 
feet  on  the  mantelpiece,  smoking  a  long  porcelain 
pipe,  and  enveloped  in  a  gorgeous  dressing-gown, 
probably  stolen  from  the  deserted  dwelling  of  some 
citizen  destitute  of  taste  in  dress.  He  neither  rose, 
greeted  them,  nor  even  glanced  in  their  direction. 
He  gave  a  fine  example  of  that  insolence  of  bear- 
ing which  seems  natural  to  the  victorious  soldier. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  moments  he  said  in  his 
halting  French : 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"We  wish  to  start  on  our  journey,"  said  the 
Count. 

"No." 

"May  I  ask  the  reason  of  your  refusal?" 

"Because  I  don't  choose." 


BALL-OF-SUET  39 

"I  would  respectfully  call  your  attention,  Mon- 
sieur, to  the  fact  that  your  general  in  command 
gave  us  a  permit  to  proceed  to  Dieppe;  and  I  do 
not  think  we  have  done  anything  to  deserve  this 
harshness  at  your  hands." 

"I  don't  choose — that's  all.    You  may  go." 

They  bowed,  and  retired. 

The  afternoon  was  wretched.  They  could  not 
understand  the  caprice  of  this  German,  and  the 
strangest  ideas  came  into  their  heads.  They  all  con- 
gregated in  the  kitchen,  and  talked  over  the  subject, 
imagining  all  kinds  of  unlikely  things.  Perhaps 
they  were  to  be  kept  as  hostages — but  for  what 
reason?  or  to  be  extradited  as  prisoners  of  war?  or 
possibly  they  were  to  be  held  for  ransom?  They 
were  panic-stricken  at  this  last  supposition.  The 
richest  among  them  were  the  most  alarmed,  seeing 
themselves  forced  to  empty  bags  of  gold  into  the 
insolent  soldier's  hands  in  order  to  purchase  their 
lives.  They  racked  their  brains  for  plausible  lies 
whereby  they  might  conceal  the  fact  that  they  were 
rich,  and  pass  themselves  off  as  poor — very  poor. 
Loiseau  took  off  his  watch-chain,  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket.  The  approach  of  night  increased  their  ap- 
prehensions. The  lamp  was  lighted,  and  as  it 
lacked  yet  two  hours  before  dinner  Madame  Loi- 
seau proposed  a  game  of  trente-et-un.  It  would 
distract  their  thoughts.  The  rest  agreed,  and  Cornu- 
det  himself  joined  the  party,  first  putting  out  his 
pipe. 


40  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

The  Count  shuffled  the  cards — dealt — and  Boule 
de  Suif  had  thirty-one  to  begin  with ;  soon  the  inter- 
est of  the  game  assuaged  the  anxiety  of  the  players. 
But  Cornudet  noticed  that  Loiseau  and  his  wife 
were  in  league  to  cheat. 

They  were  about  to  sit  down  to  dinner  when 
Monsieur  Follenvie  appeared,  and  in  his  grating 
voice  announced : 

"The  Prussian  officer  sends  to  ask  Mademoiselle 
Elizabeth  Rousset  whether  she  has  changed  her 
mind  yet." 

Boule  de  Suif  stood  still,  pale  as  death.  Then, 
suddenly  turning  scarlet  with  anger,  she  gasped : 

"Please  tell  that  scoundrel,  that  cur,  that  car- 
rion of  a  Prussian,  that  I  never  will  consent — you 
understand? — never,  never,  never!" 

The  fat  innkeeper  left  the  room.  Then  Boule  de 
Suif  was  surrounded,  questioned,  entreated  on  all 
sides  to  reveal  the  mystery  of  her  visit  to  the  officer. 
She  refused  at  first;  but  her  wrath  soon  got  the 
better  of  her. 

"What  does  he  want?  He  wants  to  make  me  his 
mistress !"  she  cried. 

No  one  was  shocked  at  the  word,  so  great  was 
the  general  indignation.  Cornudet  broke  his  jug  as 
he  banged  it  down  on  the  table.  A  loud  outcry  arose 
against  this  base  soldier.  All  were  furious.  They 
drew  together  in  common  resistance  against  the  foe, 
as  if  some  part  of  the  sacrifice  exacted  of  Boule  de 
Suif  had  been  demanded  of  each.  The  Count  de- 


BALL-OF-SUET  41 

clared,  with  supreme  disgust,  that  these  people  be- 
haved like  ancient  barbarians.  The  women,  above 
all,  manifested  a  lively  and  tender  sympathy  for 
Boule  de  Suif.  The  nuns,  who  appeared  only  at 
meals,  cast  down  their  eyes,  and  said  nothing. 

They  dined,  however,  as  soon  as  the  first  indig- 
nant outburst  had  subsided;  but  they  spoke  little, 
and  thought  much. 

The  ladies  went  to  bed  early ;  and  the  men,  hav- 
ing lighted  their  pipes,  proposed  a  game  of  ecarte, 
in  which  Monsieur  Follenvie  was  invited  to  join,  the 
travelers  hoping  to  question  him  skilfully  as  to  the 
best  means  of  vanquishing  the  officer's  obduracy. 
But  he  thought  of  nothing  but  his  cards,  would  lis- 
ten to  nothing,  reply  to  nothing,  and  repeated,  time 
after  time:  "Attend  to  the  game,  gentlemen!  at- 
tend to  the  game !"  So  absorbed  was  his  attention 
that  he  even  forgot  to  expectorate.  The  conse- 
quence was  that  his  chest  gave  forth  rumbling 
sounds  like  those  of  an  organ.  His  wheezing  lungs 
struck  every  note  of  the  asthmatic  scale,  from  deep, 
hollow  tones  to  a  shrill,  hoarse  piping  resembling 
that  of  a  young  cock  trying  to  crow. 

He  refused  to  go  to  bed  when  his  wife,  over- 
come with  sleep,  came  to  fetch  him.  So  she  went 
off  alone,  for  she  was  an  early  bird,  always  up  with 
the  sun ;  while  he  was  addicted  to  late  hours,  ever 
ready  to  spend  the  night  with  friends.  He  merely 
said:  "Put  my  eggnogg  by  the  fire,"  and  went  on 
with  the  game.  When  the  other  men  saw  tha* 

Vol.  1—4 


42  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

nothing  was  to  be  got  out  of  him  they  declared  it 
was  time  to  retire,  and  each  sought  his  bed. 

They  rose  early  the  next  morning,  with  a  vague 
hope  of  being  allowed  to  start,  a  greater  desire 
than  ever  to  do  so,  and  a  terror  at  having  to  spend 
another  day  in  this  wretched  little  inn. 

Alas !  the  horses  remained  in  the  stable,  the  driver 
was  invisible.  They  spent  their  time,  for  want  of 
something  better  to  do,  in  wandering  round  the 
coach. 

Luncheon  was  a  gloomy  affair;  and  there  was  a 
general  coolness  toward  Boule  de  Suif,  for  night, 
which  brings  counsel,  had  somewhat  modified  the 
judgment  of  her  companions.  In  the  cold  light  of 
the  morning  they  almost  bore  a  grudge  against  the 
girl  for  not  having  secretly  sought  out  the  Prus- 
sian, that  the  rest  of  the  party  might  receive  a  joy- 
ful surprise  when  they  awoke.  What  could  be  more 
simple  ?  Besides,  who  would  have  been  the  wiser  ? 
She  might  have  saved  appearances  by  telling  the 
officer  that  she  had  taken  pity  on  their  distress. 
Such  a  step  would  be  of  little  consequence  to  her. 

But  no  one  as  yet  confessed  to  such  thoughts. 

In  the  afternoon,  seeing  that  they  were  all  bored 
to  death,  the  Count  proposed  a  walk  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  village.  Each  one  wrapped  himself 
up  well,  and  the  little  party  set  out,  leaving  behind 
only  Cornudet,  who  preferred  to  sit  over  the  fire, 
and  the  two  nuns,  who  were  in  the  habit  of  spending 
their  day  in  the  church  or  at  the  presbytery. 


BALL-OF-SUET  43 

The  cold,  which  grew  more  intense  each  day,  al- 
most froze  the  noses  and  ears  of  the  pedestrians, 
their  feet  began  to  ache  so  that  each  step  was  a 
penance,  and  when  they  reached  the  open  country 
it  looked  so  mournful  and  depressing  in  its  limitless 
mantle  of  white  that  they  all  hastily  retraced  their 
steps,  with  bodies  benumbed  and  heavy  hearts. 

The  four  women  walked  in  front,  and  the  three 
men  followed  a  little  in  the  rear. 

Loiseau,  who  saw  perfectly  well  how  matters 
stood,  asked  suddenly  whether  that  trollop  were 
going  to  keep  them  waiting  much  longer  in  this 
God- forsaken  spot.  The  Count,  always  courteous, 
replied  that  they  could  not  exact  so  painful  a 
sacrifice  from  any  woman,  and  that  the  first  move 
must  come  from  herself.  Monsieur  Carre-Lama- 
don  remarked  that  if  the  French,  as  they  talked  of 
doing,  made  a  counter  attack  by  way  of  Dieppe, 
their  encounter  with  the  enemy  must  inevitably 
take  place  at  Totes.  This  reflection  made  the  other 
two  anxious. 

"  Supposing  we  escape  on  foot  ?"  said  Loiseau. 

The  Count  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"How  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing,  in  this 
snow?  And  with  our  wives?  Besides,  we  should 
be  pursued  at  once,  overtaken  in  ten  minutes,  and 
brought  back  as  prisoners  at  the  mercy  of  the  sol- 
diery." 

This  was  true  enough ;  they  were  silent. 

The  ladies  talked  of  dress,  but  a  certain  constraint 


44  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

seemed  to  prevail  among  them,  embarrassing  every- 
body. 

Suddenly,  at  the  end  of  the  street,  the  officer  ap- 
peared. His  tall,  wasplike,  uniformed  figure  was 
outlined  against  the  snow  which  bounded  the  hori- 
zon, and  he  walked,  knees  apart,  with  that  motion 
peculiar  to  soldiers,  who  are  always  careful  not  to 
soil  their  polished  boots. 

He  bowed  as  he  passed  the  ladies,  then  glanced 
scornfully  at  the  men,  who  had  sufficient  dignity 
not  to  raise  their  hats,  though  Loiseau  made  a 
movement  to  do  so. 

Boule  de  Suif  flushed  crimson  to  the  ears,  and 
the  three  married  women  felt  unutterably  humili- 
ated at  being  met  thus  by  the  soldier  in  company 
with  the  girl  whom  he  had  treated  with  such  scant 
ceremony. 

Then  they  began  to  talk  about  him,  his  figure,  and 
his  face.  Madame  Carre-Lamadon,  who  had  known 
many  officers  and  judged  them  as  a  connoisseur, 
thought  him  not  at  all  bad-looking;  she  even  re- 
gretted that  he  was  not  a  Frenchman,  because  in 
that  case  he  would  have  made  a  very  handsome  hus- 
sar, with  whom  all  the  women  would  assuredly  have 
fallen  in  love. 

When  they  were  once  more  within  doors  they 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  themselves.  Sharp 
words  were  exchanged  apropos  of  the  merest  trifles. 
The  silent  dinner  was  soon  over,  and  each  one  went 
to  bed  early  in  the  hope  of  sleeping,  and  thus  killing 
time. 


BALL-OF-SUET  45 

They  came  down  next  morning  with  tired  faces 
and  irritable  tempers;  the  women  barely  spoke  to 
Boule  de  Suif. 

A  church  bell  summoned  the  faithful  to  a  bap- 
tism. Boule  de  Suif  had  a  child  being  brought  up 
by  peasants  at  Yvetot.  She  did  not  see  him  once  a 
year,  and  never  thought  of  him ;  but  the  idea  of  the 
child  who  was  about  to  be  baptized  brought  a  sud- 
den wave  of  tenderness  for  her  own,  and  she  in- 
sisted on  being  present  at  the  ceremony. 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone  out,  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany looked  at  one  another  and  then  drew  their 
chairs  together;  for  they  realized  that  they  must 
decide  on  some  course  of  action.  Loiseau  had  an 
inspiration;  he  proposed  that  they  should  ask  the 
officer  to  detain  Boule  de  Suif  only,  and  to  let  the 
rest  go  on  their  way. 

Monsieur  Follenvie  was  intrusted  with  this  com- 
mission, but  he  returned  to  them  almost  immedi- 
ately. The  German,  who  knew  human  nature,  had 
shown  him  the  door.  He  intended  to  keep  all  the 
travelers  until  his  condition  had  been  complied 
with. 

Whereupon  Madame  Loiseau's  vulgar  tempera- 
ment broke  bounds. 

"We're  not  going  to  die  of  old  age  here!"  she 
cried.  "Since  it's  that  trollop's  trade  to  behave  so 
with  men  I  don't  see  that  she  has  any  right  to  re- 
fuse one  more  than  another.  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
she  took  any  lovers  she  could  get  at  Rouen — even 
coachmen!  Yes,  indeed,  Madame — the  coachman 


46  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

at  the  prefecture !  I  know  it  for  a  fact,  for  he  buys 
his  wine  of  us.  And  now  that  it  is  a  question  of 
getting  us  out  of  a  difficulty  she  puts  on  virtuous 
airs,  the  hussy !  For  my  part,  I  think  this  officer  has 
behaved  very  well.  Why,  there  were  three  others 
of  us,  any  one  of  whom  he  would  undoubtedly  have 
preferred.  But  no,  he  contents  himself  with  the 
girl  who  is  common  property.  He  respects  married 
women.  Only  think.  He  is  master  here.  He  had 
only  to  say:  'I  wish  it!'  and  he  might  have  taken 
us  by  force,  with  the  help  of  his  soldiers." 

The  two  other  women  shuddered;  the  eyes  of 
pretty  Madame  Carre-Lamadon  glistened,  and  she 
grew  pale,  as  if  the  officer  were  indeed  in  the  act  of 
laying  violent  hands  on  her. 

The  men,  who  had  been  discussing  the  subject 
among  themselves,  drew  near.  Loiseau,  in  a  state 
of  furious  resentment,  was  for  delivering  up  "that 
miserable  woman,"  bound  hand  and  foot,  into  the 
enemy's  power.  But  the  Count,  descended  from 
three  generations  of  ambassadors,  and  endowed, 
moreover,  with  the  lineaments  of  a  diplomat,  was 
in  favor  of  more  tactful  measures. 

"We  must  persuade  her,'  he  said. 

TrTen  they  laid  their  plans. 

The  women  drew  together;  they  lowered  their 
voices,  and  the  discussion  became  general,  each  giv- 
ing his  or  her  opinion.  But  the  conversation  was 
not  in  the  least  coarse.  The  ladies,  in  particular, 
were  adepts  at  delicate  phrases  and  charming  sub- 


BALL-OF-SUET  47 

tleties  of  expression  to  describe  the  most  improper 
things.  A  stranger  would  have  understood  none  of 
their  allusions,  so  guarded  was  the  language  they 
employed.  But,  seeing  that  the  thin  veneer  of  mod- 
esty with  which  every  woman  of  the  world  is  fur- 
nished goes  but  a  very  little  way  below  the  surface, 
they  began  rather  to  enjoy  this  scandalous  episode, 
and  really  were  hugely  delighted — feeling  them- 
selves in  their  element,  furthering  the  schemes  of 
lawless  love  with  the  gusto  of  a  gourmand  cook 
who  prepares  supper  for  another. 

Their  gayety  returned  of  itself,  so  amusing  at  last 
did  the  whole  affair  seem  to  them.  The  Count 
uttered  several  rather  risky  witticisms,  but  so  tact- 
fully were  they  said  that  his  audience  could  not  help 
smiling.  Loiseau  in  turn  made  some  considerably 
broader  jokes;  but  no  one  took  offense;  and  the 
thought  expressed  with  such  brutal  directness  by 
his  wife  was  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  all :  "Since 
it's  the  girl's  trade  why  should  she  refuse  this  man 
more  than  another?"  Dainty  Madame  Carre- 
Lamadon  even  seemed  to  think  that  in  Boule  de 
Suif's  place  she  would  be  less  inclined  to  refuse  him 
than  another. 

The  blockade  was  as  carefully  arranged  as  if  they 
were  investing  a  fortress.  Each  agreed  on  the  role 
which  he  or  she  was  to  play,  the  arguments  to  be 
used,  the  maneuvers  to  be  executed.  They  decided 
on  the  plan  of  campaign,  the  stratagems  they  were 
to  employ,  and  the  surprise  attacks  which  were  to 


48  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

reduce  this  human  citadel  and  force  it  to  receive  the 
enemy  within  its  walls. 

But  Cornudet  remained  apart  from  the  rest,  tak- 
ing no  share  in  the  riot. 

So  absorbed  was  the  attention  of  all  that  Boule  de 
Suif's  entrance  was  almost  unnoticed.  But  the 
Count  whispered  a  gentle  "Hush!"  which  made 
the  others  look  up.  She  was  there.  They  suddenly 
stopped  talking,  and  a  vague  embarrassment  pre- 
vented them  for  a  few  moments  from  addressing 
her.  But  the  Countess,  more  practised  than  the 
others  in  the  wiles  of  the  drawing-room,  asked  her : 

"Was  the  baptism  interesting?" 

The  girl,  still  under  the  stress  of  emotion,  told 
what  she  had  seen  and  heard,  described  the  faces, 
the  attitudes  of  those  present,  and  even  the  appear- 
ance of  the  church.  She  concluded  with  the  words : 
"It  does  one  good  to  pray  sometimes." 

Until  luncheon  the  ladies  contented  themselves 
with  being  pleasant  to  her,  so  as  to  increase  her 
confidence  and  make  her  yield  to  their  advice. 

As  soon  as  they  took  their  seats  at  table  the  at- 
tack began.  First  they  opened  a  vague  conversa- 
tion on  the  subject  of  self-sacrifice.  Ancient  exam- 
ples were  quoted:  Judith  and  Holof ernes;  then,  ir- 
rationally enough,  Lucrece  and  Sextus;  Cleopatra 
and  the  hostile  generals  whom  she  reduced  to  abject 
slavery  by  a  surrender  of  her  charms.  Next  was 
recounted  an  extraordinary  story,  born  of  the  im- 
agination of  these  ignorant  millionaires,  which  told 


BALL-OF-SUET  49 

how  the  matrons  of  Rome  seduced  Hannibal,  his 
lieutenants,  and  all  his  mercenaries  at  Capua.  They 
held  up  to  admiration  all  those  women  who  from 
time  to  time  have  arrested  the  victorious  progress 
of  conquerors,  made  of  their  bodies  a  field  of  bat- 
tle, a  means  of  ruling,  a  weapon;  who  have  van- 
quished by  their  heroic  caresses  hideous  or  detested 
beings,  and  sacrificed  their  chastity  to  vengeance 
and  devotion. 

All  was  said  with  due  restraint  and  regard  for 
propriety,  the  effect  heightened  now  and  then  by  an 
outburst  of  forced  enthusiasm  calculated  to  excite 
emulation. 

A  listener  would  have  thought  at  last  that  the 
grandest  role  of  woman  on  earth  was  a  perpetual 
sacrifice  of  her  person,  a  continual  abandonment  of 
herself  to  the  caprices  of  a  hostile  soldiery. 

The  two  nuns  seemed  to  hear  nothing,  and  to  be 
lost  in  thought.  Boule  de  Suif  also  was  silent. 

During  the  whole  afternoon  she  was  left  to  her 
reflections.  But  instead  of  calling  her  "Madame" 
as  they  had  done  hitherto,  her  companions  ad- 
dressed her  simply  as  "Mademoiselle,"  without  ex- 
actly knowing  why,  but  as  if  desirous  of  making  her 
descend  a  step  in  the  esteem  she  had  won,  and 
forcing  her  to  realize  her  degraded  position. 

Just  as  soup  was  served,  Monsieur  Follenvie  re- 
appeared, repeating  his  phrase  of  the  evening  be- 
fore: 

"The  Prussian  officer  sends  to  ask  whether  Made- 


50  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

moiselle  Elizabeth  Rousset  has  changed  her  mind." 

Boule  de  Suif  answered  briefly: 

"No,  Monsieur." 

But  at  dinner  the  coalition  weakened.  Loiseau 
made  three  unfortunate  remarks.  Each  was  rack- 
ing his  brains  for  further  examples  of  self-sacri- 
fice, and  could  find  none,  when  the  Countess,  pos- 
sibly without  ulterior  motive,  and  moved  simply  by 
a  vague  desire  to  do  homage  to  religion,  began  to 
question  the  elder  of  the  two  nuns  on  the  most  strik- 
ing facts  in  -the  lives  of  the  saints.  Now,  it  fell  out 
that  many  of  these  had  committed  acts  which  would 
be  crimes  in  our  eyes,  but  the  Church  readily  par- 
dons such  deeds  when  they  are  accomplished  for  the 
glory  of  God  or  the  good  of  mankind.  This  was  a 
powerful  argument,  and  the  Countess  made  the 
most  of  it.  Then,  whether  by  reason  of  a  tacit  un- 
derstanding, a  thinly  veiled  act  of  complaisance  such 
as  those  who  wear  the  ecclesiastical  habit  excel  in, 
or  whether  merely  as  the  result  of  sheer  stupidity — 
a  stupidity  admirably  adapted  to  further  their  de- 
signs— the  old  nun  rendered  formidable  aid  to  the 
conspirators.  They  had  thought  her  timid;  she 
proved  herself  bold,  talkative,  bigoted.  She  was 
not  troubled  by  the  niceties  of  casuistry;  her  doc- 
trines were  as  iron  bars ;  her  faith  knew  no  doubt ; 
her  conscience  no  scruples.  She  looked  on  Abra- 
ham's sacrifice  as  natural  enough,  for  she  herself 
would  not  have  hesitated  to  kill  both  father  and 
mother  if  she  had  received  a  divine  order  to  that  ef- 


BALL-OF-SUET  51 

feet;  and  nothing,  in  her  opinion,  could  displease 
our  Lord,  provided  the  motive  were  praiseworthy. 
The  Countess,  putting  to  good  use  the  consecrated 
authority  of  her  unexpected  ally,  led  her  on  to 
make  a  lengthy  and  edifying  paraphrase  of  that 
axiom  enunciated  by  a  certain  school  of  moralists: 
"The  end  justifies  the  means." 

"Then,  sister,"  she  asked,  "you  think  God  ac- 
cepts all  methods,  and  pardons  the  act  when  the 
motive  is  pure  ?" 

"Undoubtedly,  Madame.  An  action  reprehen- 
sible in  itself  often  derives  merit  from  the  thought 
which  inspires  it." 

And  in  this  wise  they  talked  on,  fathoming  the 
wishes  of  God,  predicting  His  Judgments,  describ- 
ing Him  as  interested  in  matters  which  certainly 
must  concern  Him  but  little. 

All  was  said  with  the  utmost  care  and  discretion, 
but  every  word  uttered  by  the  holy  woman  in  her 
nun's  garb  weakened  the  indignant  resistance  of  the 
courtesan.  Then  the  conversation  drifted  some- 
what, and  the  nun  began  to  talk  of  the  convents  of 
her  order,  of  her  Superior,  of  herself,  and  of  her 
fragile  little  neighbor,  Sister  St.  Nicephore.  They 
had  been  sent  for  from  Havre  to  nurse  the  hundreds 
of  soldiers  who  were  in  hospitals,  stricken  with 
smallpox.  She  described  these  wretched  invalids 
and  their  malady.  And,  while  they  themselves  were 
detained  on  their  way  by  the  caprices  of  the  Prus- 
sian officer,  scores  of  Frenchmen  might  by  dying, 


52  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

whom  they  would  otherwise  have  saved!  For  the 
nursing  of  soldiers  was  the  old  nun's  specialty ;  she 
had  been  in  the  Crimea,  in  Italy,  in  Austria;  and 
as  she  told  the  story  of  her  campaigns  she  revealed 
herself  as  one  of  those  holy  sisters  of  the  fife  and 
drum  who  seem  designed  by  nature  to  follow  camps, 
to  snatch  the  wounded  from  amid  the  strife  of  bat- 
tle, and  to  quell  with  a  word,  more  effectually  than 
any  general,  the  rough  and  insubordinate  troopers 
— a  masterful  woman,  her  seamed  and  pitted  face 
itself  an  image  of  the  devastations  of  war. 

No  one  spoke  when  she  had  finished  for  fear  of 
spoiling  the  excellent  effect  of  her  words. 

As  soon  as  the  meal  was  over  the  travelers  re- 
tired to  their  rooms,  whence  they  emerged  the  fol- 
lowing day  at  a  late  hour  of  the  morning. 

Luncheon  passed  off  quietly.  The  seed  sown  the 
preceding  evening  was  being  given  time  to  germi- 
nate and  bring  forth  fruit. 

In  the  afternoon  the  Countess  proposed  a  walk; 
then  the  Count,  as  had  been  arranged  beforehand, 
took  Boule  de  Suif's  arm,  and  walked  with  her  at 
some  distance  behind  the  rest. 

He  began  talking  to  her  in  that  familiar,  pater- 
nal, slightly  contemptuous  tone  which  men  of  his 
class  adopt  in  speaking  to  women  like  her,  calling 
her  "my  dear  child,"  and  talking  down  to  her  from 
the  height  of  his  exalted  social  position  and  stain- 
less reputation.  He  came  straight  to  the  point:  ; 

"So  you  prefer  to  leave  us  here,  exposed  like 


BALL-OF-SUET  53 

yourself  to  all  the  violence  which  would  follow  on  a 
repulse  of  the  Prussian  troops,  rather  than  consent 
to  surrender  yourself,  as  you  have  done  so  many 
times  in  your  life?" 

The  girl  made  no  answer. 

He  tried  kindness,  argument,  sentiment.  He  still 
bore  himself  as  Count,  even  while  adopting,  when 
desirable,  an  attitude  of  gallantry,  and  making 
pretty — nay,  even  tender — speeches.  He  exalted  the 
service  she  would  render  them,  spoke  of  their  grati- 
tude; then,  suddenly,  using  the  familiar  "thou": 

"And  you  know,  my  dear,  he  could  boast  then 
of  having  made  a  conquest  of  a  pretty  girl  such  as 
he  will  not  often  find  in  his  own  country." 

Boule  de  Suif  did  not  answer,  and  joined  the  rest 
of  the  party. 

As  soon  as  they  returned  she  went  to  her  room, 
and  was  seen  no  more.  The  general  anxiety  was  at 
its  height.  What  would  she  do?  If  she  still  re- 
sisted, how  awkward  for  them  all! 

The  dinner  hour  struck;  they  waited  for  her  in 
vain.  At  last  Monsieur  Follenvie  entered,  announ- 
cing that  Mademoiselle  Rousset  was  not  well,  and 
that  they  might  sit  down  to  table.  They  all  pricked 
up  their  ears.  The  Count  drew  near  the  innkeeper, 
and  whispered: 

"Is  it  all  right?" 

"Yes." 

Out  of  regard  for  propriety  he  said  nothing  to 
his  companions,  but  merely  nodded  slightly  toward 


54  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

them.  A  great  sigh  of  relief  went  up  from  all 
breasts;  every  face  was  lighted  up  with  joy. 

"Good!"  shouted  Loiseau,  "I'll  stand  champagne 
all  round  if  there's  any  to  be  found  in  this  place." 
And  great  was  Madame  Loiseau's  dismay  when  the 
proprietor  came  back  with  four  bottles  in  his  hands. 
They  had  all  suddenly  become  talkative  and  merry ; 
a  lively  joy  filled  all  hearts.  The  Count  seemed  to 
perceive  for  the  first  time  that  Madame  Carre- 
Lamadon  was  charming;  the  manufacturer  paid 
compliments  to  the  Countess.  The  conversation  was 
animated,  sprightly,  witty,  and,  although  many  of 
the  jokes  were  in  the  worst  possible  taste,  all  the 
company  were  amused  by  them,  and  none  offended 
— indignation  being  dependent,  like  other  emotions, 
on  surroundings.  And  the  mental  atmosphere  had 
gradually  become  filled  with  gross  imaginings  and 
unclean  thoughts. 

At  dessert  even  the  women  indulged  in  discreetly 
worded  allusions.  Their  glances  were  full  of  mean- 
ing; they  had  drunk  much.  The  Count,  who  even 
in  his  moments  of  relaxation  preserved  a  dignified 
demeanor,  hit  on  a  much-appreciated  comparison 
of  the  condition  of  things  with  the  termination  of 
a  winter  spent  in  the  icy  solitude  of  the  North  Pole 
and  the  joy  of  shipwrecked  mariners  who  at  last 
perceive  a  southward  track  opening  out  before 
their  eyes. 

Loiseau,  fairly  in  his  element,  rose  to  his  feet, 
holding  a  glass  of  champagne. 


BALL-OF-SUET  55 

"I  drink  to  our  deliverance!"  he  shouted. 

All  rose,  and  greeted  the  toast  with  applause. 
Even  the  two  good  sisters  yielded  to  the  solicitations 
of  the  ladies,  and  consented  to  moisten  their  lips 
with  the  foaming  wine,  which  they  had  never  before 
tasted.  They  declared  it  was  like  effervescent  lem- 
onade, but  with  a  pleasanter  flavor. 

"It  is  a  pity,"  said  Loiseau,  "that  we  have  no 
piano;  we  might  have  had  a  quadrille." 

Cornudet  had  not  spoken  a  word  or  made  a 
movement;  he  seemed  plunged  in  serious  thought, 
and  now  and  then  tugged  furiously  at  his  great 
beard,  as  if  trying  to  add  to  its  length.  At  last, 
toward  midnight,  when  they  were  about  to  separate, 
Loiseau,  whose  gait  was  far  from  steady,  suddenly 
slapped  him  on  the  back,  saying  thickly : 

"You're  not  jolly  to-night;  why  are  you  so  silent, 
old  man?" 

Cornudet  threw  back  his  head,  cast  one  swift 
and  scornful  glance  over  the  assemblage,  and  an- 
swered : 

"I  tell  you  all,  you  have  done  an  infamous  thing!" 

He  rose,  reached  the  door,  and  repeating:  "In- 
famous!" disappeared. 

A  chill  fell  on  the  company.  Loiseau  himself 
looked  foolish  and  disconcerted  for  a  moment,  but 
soon  recovered  his  coolness,  and,  writhing  with 
laughter,  exclaimed: 

"Really,  you're  all  too  green  for  anything!" 

Pressed  for  an  explanation,  he  related  the  "mys- 


56  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

teries  of  the  corridor,"  whereat  his  listeners  were 
highly  amused.  The  ladies  could  hardly  contain 
their  delight.  The  Count  and  Monsieur  Carre- 
Lamadon  laughed  till  they  cried.  They  could 
hardly  believe  their  ears. 

"What!  you  are  sure?    He  wanted " 

"I  tell  you  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes." 

"And  she  refused?" 

"Because  the  Prussian  was  in  the  next  room!" 

"Surely  you  are  mistaken?" 

"I  swear  I'm  telling  you  the  truth." 

The  Count  was  choking  with  laughter.  The  man- 
ufacturer held  his  sides.  Loiseau  continued : 

"So  you  may  well  imagine  he  doesn't  think  this 
evening's  business  at  all  amusing." 

And  all  three  began  to  laugh  again,  choking, 
coughing,  almost  ill  with  merriment. 

Then  they  separated.  But  Madame  Loiseau,  who 
was  nothing  if  not  spiteful,  remarked  to  her  hus- 
band as  they  were  on  the  way  to  bed  that  "that 
stuck-up  little  minx  of  a  Carre-Lamadon  had 
laughed  on  the  wrong  side  of  her  mouth  all  the 
evening." 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "when  women  run  after 
uniforms  it's  all  the  same  to  them  whether  the  men 
who  wear  them  are  French  or  Prussian.  It's  per- 
fectly disgusting!" 

The  next  morning  the  snow  showed  dazzling 
white  under  a  clear  winter  sun.  The  coach,  ready 
at  last,  waited  before  the  door;  while  a  flock  of 


BALL-OF-SUET  57 

white  pigeons,  with  pink  eyes  spotted  in  the  centers 
with  black,  puffed  out  their  white  feathers  and 
walked  sedately  between  the  legs  of  the  six  horses, 
picking  at  the  steaming  manure. 

The  driver,  muffled  in  his  sheepskin  coat,  was 
smoking  a  pipe  on  the  box,  and  all  the  passengers, 
radiant  with  joy  at  their  approaching  departure, 
were  putting  up  food  for  the  remainder  of  the 
journey. 

They  were  waiting  only  for  Boule  de  Suif.  At 
last  she  appeared. 

She  seemed  rather  shamefaced  and  embarrassed, 
and  advanced  with  timid  step  toward  her  compan- 
ions, who  with  one  accord  turned  aside  as  if  they 
had  not  seen  her.  The  Count,  with  much  dignity, 
took  his  wife  by  the  arm,  and  removed  her  from  the 
unclean  contact. 

The  girl  stood  still,  stupefied  with  astonishment; 
then,  plucking  up  courage,  accosted  the  manufac- 
turer's wife  with  a  humble  "Good  morning,  Ma- 
dame," to  which  the  other  replied  merely  with  a 
slight  and  insolent  nod  accompanied  by  a  look  of 
outraged  virtue.  Everyone  suddenly  appeared  ex- 
tremely busy,  and  kept  as  far  from  Boule  de  Suif 
as  if  her  skirts  had  been  infected  with  some  deadly 
disease.  Then  they  hurried  to  the  coach,  followed 
by  the  despised  courtesan,  who,  arriving  last  of  all, 
silently  took  the  place  she  had  occupied  during  the 
first  part  of  the  journey. 

The  rest  seemed  neither  to  see  nor  to  know  her — 

Vol.  1—5 


58  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

all  save  Madame  Loiseau,  who,  glancing  contemptu- 
ously in  her  direction,  remarked,  half  aloud,  to  her 
husband : 

"I  am  glad  I  am  not  sitting  beside  that  creature !" 

The  lumbering  vehicle  started  on  its  way. 

At  first  no  one  spoke.  Boule  de  Suif  dared  not 
even  raise  her  eyes.  She  felt  at  once  indignant  with 
her  neighbors  and  humiliated  at  having  yielded  to 
the  Prussian  into  whose  arms  they  had  so  hypo- 
critically cast  her. 

But  the  Countess,  turning  toward  Madame  Carre- 
Lamadon,  soon  broke  the  embarrassing  silence : 

"I  think  you  know  Madame  d'Etrelles?" 

"Yes ;  she  is  a  friend  of  mine." 

"Such  a  charming  woman !" 

"Delightful!  Exceptionally  talented,  and  an  art- 
ist to  the  finger-tips.  She  sings  marvelously  and 
draws  to  perfection." 

The  manufacturer  was  chatting  with  the  Count, 
and  amid  the  clatter  of  the  window-panes  a  word  of 
their  conversation  was  now  and  then  distinguish- 
able :  "Shares — maturity — premium — time-limit." 

Loiseau,  who  had  abstracted  from  the  inn  the 
timeworn  pack  of  cards,  thick  with  the  grease  of 
five  years'  contact  with  half-cleaned  tables,  began 
a  game  of  bezique  with  his  wife. 

The  good  sisters,  taking  up  simultaneously  the 
long  rosaries  hanging  from  their  waists,  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  began  to  mutter  in  unison  in- 
terminable prayers,  their  lips  moving  ever  more  and 


BALL-OF-SUET  59 

more  swiftly,  as  if  they  sought  which  should  out- 
distance the  other  in  the  race  of  orisons;  from 
time  to  time  they  kissed  a  medal,  and  crossed  them- 
serves  anew,  then  resumed  their  rapid  and  unin- 
telligible murmur. 

Cornudet  sat  still,  deep  in  thought. 

At  the  end  of  three  hours  Loiseau  gathered  up 
the  cards,  and  remarked  that  he  was  hungry. 

His  wife  thereupon  produced  a  parcel  tied  with 
string,  from  which  she  took  out  a  piece  of  cold 
veal.  This  she  cut  into  neat  thin  slices,  and  both 
began  to  eat. 

"We  may  as  well  lunch,  too,"  said  the  Count- 
ess. The  rest  agreed,  and  she  unpacked  the  food 
that  had  been  prepared  for  herself,  the  Count  and 
the  Carre-Lamadons.  In  one  of  those  oval  dishes, 
the  lids  of  which  are  decorated  with  an  earthen- 
ware hare,  by  way  of  showing  that  a  game  pie  lies 
within,  was  a  succulent  delicacy  consisting  of  the 
brown  flesh  of  the  game,  larded  with  streaks  of 
bacon  and  flavored  with  other  meats  chopped  fine, 
A  solid  wedge  of  Gruyere  cheese,  which  had  been 
wrapped  in  a  newspaper,  bore  the  imprint:  "Items 
of  News,"  on  its  rich,  oily  surface. 

The  two  good  sisters  brought  to  light  a  piece  of 
sausage  smelling  strongly  of  garlic;  and  Cornudet, 
plunging  both  hands  at  once  into  the  capacious 
pockets  of  his  loose  topcoat,  produced  from  one 
four  hard-boiled  eggs  and  from  the  other  a  crust  of 
bread.  He  removed  the  shells,  threw  them  into 


60  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

the  straw  beneath  his  feet,  and  began  to  devour  the 
eggs,  letting  morsels  of  the  bright  yellow  yolk  fall 
on  his  mighty  beard,  where  they  looked  like  stars. 

Boule  de  Suif,  in  the  haste  and  confusion  of  her 
departure,  had  not  thought  of  anything,  and,  chok- 
ing with  rage,  she  watched  all  these  people  placidly 
eating.  At  first,  ill-suppressed  wrath  shook  her 
whole  person,  and  she  opened  her  lips  to  shriek  the 
truth  at  them,  to  overwhelm  them  with  a  volley  of 
insults;  but  she  could  not  utter  a  word,  so  choked 
was  she  with  indignation. 

No  one  looked  at  her,  no  one  thought  of  her.  She 
felt  herself  swallowed  up  in  the  scorn  of  these  virtu- 
ous creatures,  who  had  first  sacrificed,  then  rejected 
her  as  a  thing  useless  and  unclean.  Then  she  re- 
membered her  big  basket  full  of  the  good  things 
they  had  so  greedily  devoured:  the  two  chickens 
coated  in  jelly,  the  pies,  the  pears,  the  four  bottles 
of  claret;  and  her  emotion  broke  forth  like  a  cord 
that  is  overstrained,  and  she  was  on  the  verge  of 
tears.  She  made  terrible  efforts  at  self-control, 
drew  herself  up,  swallowed  the  sobs  which  choked 
her;  but  the  tears  rose  nevertheless,  shone  at  the 
edges  of  her  eyelids,  and  soon  two  heavy  drops 
flowed  slowly  down  her  cheeks.  Others  followed 
more  quickly,  like  water  filtering  from  a  rock,  and 
fell,  one  after  another,  on  her  rounded  bosom.  She 
sat  upright,  with  a  fixed  expression,  her  face  pale 
and  rigid,  hoping  desperately  that  no  one  saw  her 
give  way. 


BALL-OF-SUET  61 

But  the  Countess  noticed  that  she  was  weeping, 
and  with  a  sign  drew  her  husband's  attention  to 
the  fact  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  if  to 
say: 

"Well,  what  of  it?  It's  not  my  fault."  Madame 
Loiseau  chuckled  triumphantly,  and  murmured: 
"She's  crying  for  shame." 

The  two  nuns  had  betaken  themselves  once  more 
to  their  prayers,  first  wrapping  the  remainder  of 
their  sausage  in  paper. 

Then  Cornudet,  who  was  digesting  his  eggs, 
stretched  his  long  legs  under  the  opposite  seat, 
threw  himself  back,  folded  his  arms,  smiled  like  a 
man  who  has  just  thought  of  a  good  joke,  and  be- 
gan to  whistle  the  Marseillaise. 

The  faces  of  his  neighbors  clouded;  the  popular 
air  evidently  did  not  find  favor  with  them;  they 
grew  nervous  and  irritable,  and  seemed  ready  to 
howl  as  a  dog  does  at  the  sound  of  a  street-organ. 
Cornudet  saw  the  discomfort  he  was  creating,  and 
whistled  louder;  sometimes  he  even  hummed  the 
words : 

Amour  sacri  de  la  patrie, 
Conduis,  soutiens,  nos  bras  vengeurs, 
Liberte,  liberte,  cherie, 
Combats  avec  tes  defenseurs! 

The  coach  went  more  swiftly,  the  snow  being 
harder  now ;  and  all  the  way  to  Dieppe,  during  the 
long,  dreary  hours  of  the  journey,  first  in  the  gath- 


62  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ering  twilight,  then  in  the  thick  darkness,  raising 
his  voice  above  the  rumbling  of  the  vehicle,  Cornu- 
det  continued  with  fierce  obstinacy  his  vengeance 
and  his  monotonous  whistling,  forcing  his  weary 
and  exasperated  hearers  to  follow  the  song  from 
end  to  end,  to  recall  every  word  of  every  line,  as 
each  was  repeated  over  and  over  again  with  un- 
tiring persistence. 

And  Boule  de  Suif  still  wept,  and  sometimes  a 
sob  she  could  not  restrain  was  heard  in  the  darkness 
between  two  stanzas  of  the  song, 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR 

AS  the  small  engine  attached  to  the  Neuilly  train 
passed  the  Porte  Maillot  it  whistled  to  warn 
all  obstacles  to  clear  the  way  and  puffed  like 
a  man  out  of  breath  as  it  emitted  its  steam,  its  pis- 
tons moving  rapidly  with  a  noise  like  iron  legs  run- 
ning. The  train  was  going  through  the  broad  ave- 
nue that  ends  at  the  Seine.  The  oppressive  heat  of 
a  July  day  lay  over  the  whole  city,  and  from  the 
road,  although  not  a  breath  of  wind  was  stirring, 
a  white,  chalky,  suffocating,  warm  dust  arose,  which 
clung  to  the  moist  skin,  filled  the  eyes,  and  got  into 
the  lungs.  People  stood  in  their  doorways  trying  to 
get  a  breath  of  air. 

The  windows  of  the  train  were  open  and  the 
curtains  fluttered  in  the  wind.  Very  few  passengers 
were  inside,  because  on  warm  days  people  preferred 
the  outside  or  the  platforms.  They  consisted  of 
stout  women  in  odd  costumes,  of  shopkeepers'  wives 
from  the  suburbs,  who  tried  to  make  up  for  the 
distinguished  looks  they  did  not  possess  by  ill-as- 
sumed dignity ;  of  men  tired  from  office-work,  with 

63 


64  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

sallow  faces,  bent  shoulders,  often  having  one 
shoulder  higher  than  the  other,  in  consequence  of 
long  hours  of  writing  at  a  desk.  Their  uneasy  and 
melancholy  faces  spoke  of  domestic  troubles,  also 
of  continual  want  of  money  and  disappointed  hopes ; 
for  they  all  belonged  to  the  army  of  poor,  thread- 
bare devils  who  vegetate  economically  in  cheap, 
plastered  houses,  with  a  tiny  piece  of  neglected  gar- 
den, in  the  outskirts  of  Paris,  near  those  fields 
where  nightsoil  is  deposited. 

A  short,  corpulent  man,  with  bloated  face,  dressed 
in  black  and  wearing  a  decoration  in  his  button- 
hole, was  talking  to  a  tall,  thin  man,  dressed  in  a 
soiled  white  linen  suit,  with  his  coat  all  unbuttoned 
and  a  white  Panama  hat  on  his  head.  The  former 
spoke  so  slowly  and  hesitatingly  that  it  occasionally 
almost  seemed  as  if  he  stammered;  he  was  Mon- 
sieur Caravan,  chief  clerk  in  the  Admiralty.  The 
other,  who  had  formerly  been  surgeon  on  board  a 
merchant  ship,  had  set  up  in  practice  in  Courbevoie, 
where  he  applied  to  the  wretched  population  of  that 
district  the  vague  remnants  of  medical  knowledge 
which  he  had  retained  after  an  adventurous  life. 
His  name  was  Chenet,  and  gossip  was  current  as 
to  his  morality. 

Monsieur  Caravan  had  always  led  the  normal  life 
of  a  man  in  a  government  office.  For  thirty  years 
he  had  invariably  gone  the  same  way  to  his  office 
every  morning,  and  had  met  the  same  men  going  to 
business  at  the  same  time  and  almost  on  the  same 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  65 

spot;  and  he  returned  home  every  evening  by  the 
same  road,  and  again  met  the  same  faces  which  he 
had  seen  grow  old.  Every  morning,  after  buying 
his  penny  newspaper  at  the  corner  of  the  Faubourg 
St.  Honore,  he  bought  two  rolls,  and  then  he  went 
into  his  office,  like  a  culprit  who  is  giving  himself 
up  to  justice,  and  went  to  his  desk  as  quickly  as 
possible,  feeling  uneasy,  as  if  he  were  expecting  a 
rebuke  for  some  possible  neglect  of  duty. 

Nothing  ever  had  occurred  to  change  the  monoto- 
nous order  of  his  existence,  for  no  event  affected 
him  except  the  work  of  his  office,  perquisites,  gratu- 
ities, and  promotion.  He  never  spoke  of  anything 
but  of  his  duties,  either  at  the  Admiralty  or  at 
home,  for  he  had  married  the  portionless  daughter 
of  one  of  his  colleagues.  His  mind,  which  was 
in  a  state  of  atrophy  from  his  depressing  daily 
work,  had  no  other  thoughts,  hopes,  or  dreams  than 
such  as  related  to  the  office,  and  there  was  a  con- 
stant source  of  bitterness  which  spoiled  eveiy  pleas- 
ure he  might  have  had,  and  that  was  the  employ- 
ment of  so  many  naval  officials — "tinsmiths,"  as 
they  were  called  because  of  their  silver-lace — as  first- 
grade  clerks;  and  every  evening  at  dinner  he  dis- 
cussed the  matter  hotly  with  his  wife,  who  shared 
his  angry  feelings,  and  proved  to  their  own  satis- 
faction that  it  was  in  every  way  unjust  to  give 
places  in  Paris  to  men  who  should  properly  have 
been  employed  in  the  navy. 

Caravan  was  old  now,  and  had  hardly  noticed 


66  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

how  his  life  was  passing,  for  school  had  merely  been 
exchanged  for  the  office  without  any  intermediate 
transition,  and  the  ushers,  at  whom  he  had  for- 
merly trembled,  were  replaced  by  his  chiefs,  of 
whom  he  was  terribly  afraid.  When  he  had  to  go 
into  the  rooms  of  these  official  despots,  he  trembled 
from  head  to  foot,  and  that  continual  fear  had 
given  him  a  very  awkward  manner  in  their  pres- 
ence, a  humble  demeanor,  and  a  kind  of  nervous 
stammering. 

He  knew  no  more  about  Paris  than  a  blind  man 
might  know  who  was  led  to  the  same  spot  by  his 
dog  every  day;  and  if  he  read  the  account  of  any 
uncommon  events,  or  scandals,  in  his  penny  journal, 
they  appeared  to  him  like  fantastic  tales,  which 
some  reporter  had  made  up  out  of  his  own  head, 
in  order  to  amuse  the  inferior  employes.  He  did 
not  read  political  news,  which  his  paper  frequently 
altered,  as  the  cause  which  subsidized  it  might  re- 
quire, for  he  was  not  fond  of  innovations,  and 
when  he  went  through  the  Avenue  of  the  Champs- 
Elysees  every  evening,  he  looked  at  the  surging 
crowd  of  pedestrians,  and  at  the  stream  of  car- 
riages, as  a  traveler  might  who  has  lost  his  way 
in  a  strange  country. 

As  he  had  completed  his  thirty  years  of  obliga- 
tory service  that  year,  on  the  first  of  January,  he 
had  had  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  bestowed 
upon  him,  which,  in  the  semi-military  public  offices, 
is  a  recompense  for  the  miserable  slavery — the  offi- 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  67 

cial  phrase  is  "loyal  services" — of  the  unfortunate 
convicts  who  are  riveted  to  their  desk.  That  unex- 
pected dignity  gave  him  a  high  and  new  idea  of  his 
own  capacities,  and  altogether  changed  him.  He 
immediately  left  off  wearing  light  trousers  and 
fancy  waistcoats,  and  wore  black  trousers  and  long 
coats,  on  which  his  ribbon,  which  was  very  broad, 
showed  off  better.  He  shaved  every  morning,  mani- 
cured his  nails  more  carefully,  changed  his  linen 
every  two  days,  from  a  legitimate  sense  of  what 
was  proper,  and  out  of  respect  to  the  national 
Order,  of  which  he  formed  a  part;  and  from  that 
day  he  was  another  Caravan,  scrupulously  clean, 
majestic,  and  condescending. 

At  home,  he  said,  "my  cross,"  continually,  and 
he  had  become  so  proud  of  it  that  he  could  not  bear 
to  see  men  wearing  any  other  ribbon  in  their  but- 
tonholes. He  was  especially  angry  on  seeing  strange 
orders — "which  nobody  should  be  allowed  to  wear 
in  France ;"  and  he  bore  Chenet  a  particular  grudge, 
as  he  met  him  on  a  train  every  evening,  wearing  a 
decoration  of  one  kind  or  another,  white,  blue, 
orange,  or  green. 

The  conversation  of  the  two  men,  from  the  Arc 
de  Triomphe  to  Neuilly,  was  always  the  same,  and 
on  that  day  they  discussed,  first  of  all,  various  local 
abuses,  which  disgusted  them  both,  and  the  Mayor 
of  Neuilly  received  his  full  share  of  their  censure. 
Then,  as  invariably  happens  in  the  company  of  a 
medical  man,  Caravan  began  to  enlarge  on  the  sub- 


68  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ject  of  illness,  as,  in  that  way,  he  hoped  to  obtain 
a  little  gratuitous  advice,  if  he  was  careful  not  to 
show  his  hand.  His  mother  had  been  causing  him 
no  little  anxiety  for  some  time;  she  had  frequent 
and  prolonged  fainting  fits,  and,  although  she  was 
ninety,  she  would  not  take  care  of  herself. 

Caravan  became  quite  affected  when  he  men- 
tioned her  great  age,  and  more  than  once  asked 
Dr.  Chenet,  emphasizing  the  word  doctor — although 
he  was  not  fully  qualified,  being  only  an  officier  de 
sante — whether  he  had  often  met  anyone  as  old  as 
that.  And  he  rubbed  his  hands  with  pleasure;  not, 
perhaps,  that  he  cared  very  much  about  seeing  the 
good  woman  last  forever  here  on  earth,  but  because 
the  length  of  his  mother's  life  was,  as  it  were,  an 
earnest  of  old  age  for  himself,  and  he  continued : 

"In  my  family  we  live  long,  and  I  am  sure  that, 
unless  I  meet  with  an  accident,  I  shall  not  die  until 
I  am  very  old." 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  with  pity,  and  glanced 
for  a  moment  at  his  neighbor's  red  face,  his  short, 
thick  neck,  his  "corporation,"  as  Chenet  called  it 
to  himself,  his  two  fat,  flabby  legs,  and  the  apoplec- 
tic rotundity  of  the  old  official;  and,  raising  the 
white  Panama  hat  from  his  head,  he  said  with  a 
chuckle : 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  old  fellow.  Your 
mother  is  as  tough  as  nails,  but  I  should  say  that 
your  life  is  not  a  very  good  one." 

This  rather  disturbed  Caravan,  who  did  not  speak 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  69 

again  until  they  arrived  at  their  destination,  where 
the  two  friends  got  out.  Chenet  asked  his  friend  to 
have  a  glass  of  vermouth  at  the  Cafe  du  Globe,  op- 
posite, which  both  were  in  the  habit  of  frequenting. 
The  proprietor,  who  was  a  friend  of  theirs,  held 
out  to  them  two  fingers  which  they  shook  across  the 
bottles  on  the  counter;  and  then  they  joined  three 
of  their  friends,  who  were  playing  dominoes,  and 
who  had  been  there  since  mid-day.  They  exchanged 
cordial  greetings,  with  the  usual  question: — "Any- 
thing new?"  And  then  the  three  players  continued 
their  game,  and  held  out  their  hands  without  looking 
up,  when  the  others  said  "Good-night;"  after 
which  both  went  home  to  dinner. 

Caravan  lived  in  a  small  two-story  house  in  Cour- 
bevoie,  near  where  the  roads  meet;  the  first  floor 
was  occupied  by  a  hairdresser.  Two  bedrooms,  a 
dining-room,  and  a  kitchen  formed  the  whole  of 
their  apartments,  and  Madame  Caravan  spent 
nearly  all  her  time  in  cleaning  them,  while  her 
daughter,  Marie-Louise,  who  was  twelve,  and  her 
son,  Philippe-Auguste,  were  running  about  with  all 
the  dirty  little  mischievous  children  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  playing  in  the  gutter. 

Caravan  had  installed  his  mother,  whose  avarice 
was  notorious  in  the  neighborhood,  and  who  was 
terribly  thin,  in  the  room  above  them.  She  was 
always  cross,  and  she  never  passed  a  day  without 
quarreling  and  flying  into  furious  rages.  She  would 
apostrophize  the  neighbors  who  were  standing  at 


70  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

their  own  doors,  the  costermongers,  the  street- 
sweepers,  and  the  street-boys,  in  the  most  violent 
language ;  and  the  latter,  for  revenge,  would  follow 
her  at  a  distance  when  she  went  out,  and  call  out 
rude  things  after  her. 

A  little  servant  from  Normandy,  who  was  incred- 
ibly silly  and  thoughtless,  performed  the  house- 
hold work,  and  slept  on  the  second  floor  in  the  same 
room  with  the  old  woman,  for  fear  of  anything 
happening  to  her  in  the  night. 

When  Caravan  entered,  his  wife,  who  suffered 
from  a  chronic  passion  for  cleaning,  was  polishing 
with  a  piece  of  flannel,  the  mahogany  chairs  that 
stood  about  the  room.  She  always  wore  cotton 
gloves,  and  adorned  her  head  with  a  cap  ornamented 
with  many  colored  ribbons,  which  was  always  tilted 
over  one  ear ;  and  whenever  anyone  caught  her  pol- 
ishing, sweeping,  or  washing,  she  would  say: 

"  I  am  not  rich ;  everything  is  very  simple  in  my 
house,  but  cleanliness  is  my  luxury,  and  that  is 
worth  quite  as  much  as  any  other." 

As  she  was  gifted  with  good,  obstinate,  prac- 
tical common-sense,  she  led  her  husband  in  every- 
thing. Every  evening  during  dinner,  and  after- 
ward, when  they  were  in  their  room,  they  talked 
over  the  business  of  the  office  for  a  long  time,  and 
although  she  was  twenty  years  younger  than  he, 
Caravan  confided  everything  to  her  as  if  she  took 
the  lead,  and  followed  her  advice  in  every  matter. 

She  never  had  been  pretty,  and  now  she  had 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  71 

grown  ugly;  in  addition  to  that,  she  was  short  and 
thin,  while  her  careless  and  tasteless  way  of  dress- 
ing herself  concealed  her  few  small  feminine  attrac- 
tions, which  might  have  been  brought  out  if  she 
had  possessed  any  taste  in  dress.  Her  skirts  were 
always  awry,  and  she  frequently  scratched  herself, 
no  matter  on  what  part  of  her  person,  totally  indif- 
ferent as  to  who  might  see  her,  and  so  persistently 
that  anyone  who  saw  her  might  think  that  she  was 
suffering  from  something  like  the  itch.  The  only 
adornments  that  she  allowed  herself  were  silk  rib- 
bons, which  she  wore  in  great  profusion,  and  of 
various  colors  mixed  together,  in  the  pretentious 
caps  which  she  wore  at  home. 

As  soon  as  she  saw  her  husband  she  rose  and 
said,  as  she  kissed  his  whiskers : 

"Did  you  remember  Potin,  my  dear?" 

He  fell  into  a  chair,  in  consternation,  for  that 
was  the  fourth  time  on  which  he  had  forgotten  a 
commission  that  he  had  promised  to  do  for  her. 

"It  is  a  fatality,"  he  said;  "it  is  of  no  use  for 
me  to  think  of  it  all  day  long,  for  I  am  sure  to  for- 
get it  in  the  evening." 

But  as  he  seemed  so  very  sorry  she  merely  said : 

"You  will  think  of  it  to-morrow,  I  am  sure.  Any- 
thing new  at  the  office?" 

"Yes,  a  great  piece  of  news;  another  tinsmith 
has  been  appointed  second  chief  clerk."  She  be- 
came very  serious,  and  said : 

"  So  he  succeeds  Ramon ;  that  was  the  very  place 


72  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

that   I   wanted   you   to   have.    And   what   about 
Ramon  ?" 

"He  retires  on  his  pension." 

She  became  furious,  her  cap  slid  down  on  her 
shoulder,  and  she  continued : 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  be  done  in  that  shop 
now.  And  what  is  the  name  of  the  new  commis- 
sioner?" 

"Bonassot." 

She  took  up  the  Naval  Year  Book,  which  she 
always  kept  close  at  hand,  and  looked  for  his  record. 

"  'Bonassot — Toulon.  Born  in  1851.  Student- 
Commissioner  in  1871.  Sub-Commissioner  in  1875.' 
Has  he  been  to  sea?"  she  continued.  At  that  ques- 
tion Caravan's  looks  brightened,  and  he  laughed 
until  his  sides  shook. 

"As  much  as  Balin — as  much  as  Balin,  his  chief." 
And  he  added  an  old  office  joke,  and  laughed  more 
than  ever : 

"It  would  not  even  do  to  send  them  by  water  to 
inspect  the  Point-du-Jour,  for  they  would  be  sick 
on  the  penny  steamboats  on  the  Seine." 

But  she  remained  as  serious  as  if  she  had  not 
heard  him,  and  then  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  she 
scratched  her  chin : 

"If  we  only  had  a  deputy  to  fall  back  upon. 
When  the  Chamber  hears  everything  that  is  going 
on  at  the  Admiralty,  the  Minister  will  be  turned 
out.  ..." 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  terrible  noise  on  the 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  73 

stairs.  Marie-Louise  and  Philippe- Auguste,  who 
had  just  come  in  from  the  gutter,  were  slapping 
each  other  all  the  way  upstairs.  Their  mother 
rushed  at  them  furiously,  and  taking  each  of  them 
by  an  arm,  she  dragged  them  into  the  room,  shak- 
ing them  vigorously;  but  as  soon  as  they  saw  their 
father,  they  rushed  up  to  him,  and  he  kissed  them 
affectionately,  and  taking  one  on  each  knee,  began 
to  talk  to  them. 

Philippe-Auguste  was  an  ugly,  ill-kempt  little 
imp,  dirty  from  head  to  foot,  with  the  face  of  an 
idiot,  and  Marie-Louise  was  already  like  her 
mother — spoke  like  her,  repeated  her  words,  and 
even  imitated  her  movements.  She  also  asked  him 
whether  there  was  anything  fresh  at  the  office,  and 
he  replied  merrily : 

"  Your  friend,  Ramon,  who  comes  and  dines  here 
every  Sunday,  is  about  to  leave  us,  little  one.  There 
is  a  new  second  head  clerk." 

She  looked  at  her  father,  and  with  a  precocious 
child's  pity,  she  said : 

"Another  man  has  been  put  over  your  head 
again !" 

He  stopped  laughing,  and  did  not  reply,  and  in 
order  to  create  a  diversion,  he  said,  addressing  his 
wife,  who  was  cleaning  the  windows : 

"How  is  mamma,  upstairs?" 

Madame  Caravan  left  off  polishing,  turned,  pulled 
her  cap  up,  and  said,  with  trembling  lips: 

"Ah!  yes;  let  us  talk  about  your  mother,  for  she 

Vol.  1-6 


74  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

has  made  a  pretty  scene.  Just  imagine;  a  short 
time  ago  Madame  Lebaudin,  the  hairdresser's  wife, 
came  upstairs  to  borrow  a  packet  of  starch  of  me, 
and,  as  I  was  not  at  home,  your  mother  chased  her 
out  as  if  she  were  a  beggar;  but  I  gave  it  to 
the  old  woman.  She  pretended  not  to  hear,  as  she 
always  does  when  one  tells  her  unpleasant  truths, 
but  she  is  no  more  deaf  than  I  am,  as  you  know. 
It  is  all  a  sham,  and  the  proof  of  it  is  that  she 
went  up  to  her  own  room  immediately,  without 
saying  a  word." 

Caravan,  embarrassed,  did  not  utter  a  word,  and 
at  that  moment  the  little  servant  came  in  to  an- 
nounce dinner.  In  order  to  let  his  mother  know, 
he  took  a  broom-handle,  which  always  stood  in  a 
corner,  and  rapped  loudly  on  the  ceiling  three  times, 
and  then  they  went  into  the  dining-room.  Madame 
Caravan,  junior,  served  the  soup,  and  waited  for 
the  old  woman,  but  she  did  not  come,  and  as  the 
soup  was  getting  cold,  they  began  to  eat  slowly,  and 
when  their  plates  were  empty,  they  waited  again, 
and  Madame  Caravan,  who  was  furious,  attacked 
her  husband: 

"She  does  it  on  purpose,  you  know  that  as  well 
as  I  do.  But  you  always  defend  her." 

Not  knowing  which  side  to  take,  he  sent  Marie- 
Louise  to  fetch  her  grandmother,  and  he  sat  motion- 
less, with  his  eyes  cast  down,  while  his  wife  tapped 
her  glass  angrily  with  her  knife.  In  about  a  min- 
ute, the  door  flew  open  suddenly,  and  the  child  came 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  75 

in  again,  out  of  breath  and  very  pale,  and  said: 
"Grandmamma  has  fallen  on  the  floor." 
Caravan  jumped  up,  threw  his  napkin  down,  and 
rushed  upstairs,  while  his  wife,  who  thought  it  was 
some  trick  of  her  mother-in-law's,  followed  more 
slowly,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  as  if  to  express  her 
doubt.  When  they  got  upstairs,  however,  they 
found  the  old  woman  lying  at  full  length  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and  when  they  turned  her 
over,  they  saw  that  she  was  insensible  and  motion- 
less, while  her  skin  looked  more  wrinkled  and  yel- 
low than  usual,  her  eyes  were  closed,  her  teeth 
clenched,  and  her  thin  body  was  stiff. 

Caravan  knelt  down  by  her,  and  began  to  moan : 
"Poor  mother!  my  poor  mother!"  he  said.    But 
the  other  Madame  Caravan  said: 

"Bah!  She  has  only  fainted  again,  that  is  all, 
and  she  has  done  it  to  prevent  us  from  dining  com- 
fortably, you  may  be  sure  of  that." 

They  put  her  on  the  bed,  undressed  her  com- 
pletely, and  Caravan,  his  wife,  and  the  servant  be- 
gan to  rub  her;  but,  in  spite  of  their  efforts,  she 
did  not  recover  consciousness,  so  they  sent  Rosalie, 
the  servant,  to  fetch  Dr.  Chenet.  He  lived  a  long 
way  off,  on  the  quay  leading  toward  Suresnes,  and 
so  it  was  some  time  before  he  arrived.  He  came 
at  last,  and,  after  looking  at  the  old  woman,  he  felt 
her  pulse,  listened  for  a  heart-beat,  and  said: — "It 
is  all  over." 

Caravan  threw  himself  on  the  body,  sobbing  vio- 


76  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

lently;  he  kissed  his  mother's  rigid  face,  and  wept 
so  that  great  tears  fell  on  the  dead  woman's  face, 
like  drops  of  water,  and,  naturally,  Madame  Cara- 
van, junior,  showed  a  decorous  amount  of  grief,  and 
uttered  feeble  moans  as  she  stood  behind  her  hus- 
band, while  she  rubbed  her  eyes  vigorously. 

But,  suddenly,  Caravan  raised  himself,  his  thin 
hair  in  disorder,  and,  looking  very  ugly  in  his  grief, 
said: 

"  But  .  .  .  are  you  sure,  doctor  ?  .  .  .  Are  you 
sure?  ..." 

The  doctor  stooped  over  the  body,  and,  handling 
it  with  professional  dexterity,  as  a  shopkeeper 
might  when  showing  off  his  goods,  he  said : 

"See,  my  dear  friend,  look  at  her  eye." 

He  raised  the  eyelid,  and  the  old  woman's  eye 
appeared  altogether  unaltered,  unless,  perhaps,  the 
pupil  was  rather  larger,  and  Caravan  felt  a  severe 
shock  at  the  sight.  Then  Dr.  Chenet  took  her  thin 
arm,  forced  the  fingers  open,  and  said,  angrily,  as 
if  he  had  been  contradicted : 

"Just  look  at  her  hand ;  I  never  make  a  mistake, 
you  may  be  quite  sure  of  that." 

Caravan  fell  on  the  bed,  and  almost  bellowed, 
while  his  wife,  still  whimpering,  did  what  was 
necessary. 

She  brought  the  night-table,  on  which  she  spread 
a  towel  and  placed  four  wax  candles  on  it,  which 
she  lighted ;  then  she  took  a  sprig  of  box,  which  was 
hanging  over  the  chimney-glass,  and  put  it  between 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  77 

the  four  candles,  in  a  plate,  which  she  filled  with 
clean  water,  as  she  had  no  holy  water.  But,  after  a 
moment's  rapid  reflection,  she  threw  a  pinch  of  salt 
into  the  water,  no  doubt,  thinking  she  was  perform- 
ing some  sort  of  act  of  consecration  by  doing  that. 
When  she  had  finished  she  remained  standing  mo- 
tionless, and  the  doctor,  who  had  been  helping  her, 
whispered  to  her: 

"We  must  take  Caravan  away." 

She  nodded  assent,  and,  going  up  to  her  husband, 
who  was  still  on  his  knees,  sobbing,  she  raised  him 
by  one  arm,  while  Chenet  took  him  by  the  other. 

They  put  him  into  a  chair,  and  his  wife  kissed  his 
forehead,  and  then  began  to  lecture  him.  Chenet 
enforced  her  words,  and  preached  firmness,  cour- 
age, and  resignation — the  very  things  that  are  al- 
ways wanting  in  such  overwhelming  misfortunes — 
and  then  both  took  him  by  the  arms  again  and  led 
him  out. 

He  was  crying  like  a  great  child,  with  convulsive 
sobs;  his  arms  hanging  down,  and  his  legs  weak, 
and  he  went  downstairs  without  knowing  what  he 
was  doing,  moving  his  feet  mechanically.  They 
put  him  into  the  chair  he  always  occupied  at  dinner, 
in  front  of  his  empty  soup  plate.  And  there  he  sat, 
without  moving,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  glass,  and 
so  stupefied  with  grief  that  he  could  not  even  think. 

In  a  corner,  Madame  Caravan  was  talking  with 
the  doctor  and  asking  what  the  necessary  formali- 
ties were,  as  she  wanted  to  obtain  practical  in  forma- 


78  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Jion.  At  last  Dr.  Chenet,  who  appeared  to  be 
waiting  for  something,  took  up  his  hat  and  prepared 
to  go,  saying  that  he  had  not  dined  yet;  where- 
upon she  exclaimed: 

"What!  you  have  not  dined?  Why,  stay  here, 
doctor;  don't  go.  You  shall  have  whatever  we 
have,  for,  of  course,  you  understand  that  we  do  not 
live  sumptuously."  He  made  excuses  and  refused, 
but  she  persisted,  and  said: 

"You  really  must  stay;  at  times  like  this  people 
like  to  have  friends  near  them,  and,  besides  that, 
perhaps  you  will  be  able  to  persuade  my  husband 
to  take  some  nourishment;  he  must  keep  up  his 
strength." 

The  doctor  bowed,  and,  putting  down  his  hat,  he 
said: 

"In  that  case,  I  will  accept  your  invitation, 
Madame." 

She  gave  some  orders  to  Rosalie,  who  seemed  to 
have  lost  her  head,  and  then  sat  down,  "to  pretend 
to  eat,"  as  she  said,  "to  keep  the  doctor  company." 

The  soup  was  brought  in  again,  and  Dr.  Chenet 
took  two  helpings.  Then  came  a  dish  of  tripe, 
which  exhaled  a  smell  of  onions,  and  which 
Madame  Caravan  made  up  her  mind  to  taste. 

"It  is  excellent,"  the  doctor  said,  at  which  she 
smiled,  and,  turning  to  her  husband,  she  said : 

"Do  take  a  little,  my  poor  Alfred,  only  just  to 
put  something  into  your  stomach.  Remember  that 
you  have  to  pass  all  the  night  watching  beside  heri" 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  79 

He  held  out  his  plate,  docilely,  just  as  he  would 
have  gone  to  bed,  if  he  had  been  told  to,  obeying 
her  in  everything,  without  resistance  and  without 
reflection,  and  he  ate;  the  doctor  helped  himself 
three  times,  while  Madame  Caravan,  from  time  to 
time,  fished  out  a  large  piece  at  the  end  of  her  fork, 
and  swallowed  it  with  a  sort  of  studied  indifference. 

When  a  salad  bowl  full  of  macaroni  was  brought 
in,  the  doctor  said: 

"Good!  That  is  something  I  am  very  fond  of." 
And  this  time  Madame  Caravan  helped  everybody. 
She  even  filled  the  saucers  that  were  being  scraped 
by  the  children,  who,  left  to  themselves,  had  been 
drinking  wine  without  any  water,  and  were  now 
kicking  each  other  under  the  table. 

Chenet  remembered  that  Rossini,  the  composer, 
had  been  very  fond  of  that  Italian  dish,  and  sud- 
denly exclaimed : 

"Why!  that  rhymes,  and  one  could  begin  some 
lines  likes  this: 

"'The  Maestro  Rossini 
Was  fond  of  macaroni.' " 

Nobody  listened  to  him,  however.  Madame  Cara- 
van, who  had  suddenly  grown  thoughtful,  was 
thinking  of  all  the  probable  consequences  of  the 
death,  while  her  husband  made  bread  pellets,  which 
he  laid  on  the  tablecloth  and  looked  at  with  a  fixed, 
idiotic,  stare.  As  he  was  devoured  by  thirst,  he  was 
continually  raising  his  glass  full  of  wine  to  his  lips, 
and  the  consequence  was  that  his  mind,  which  had 


80  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

been  upset  by  the  shock  and  grief,  seemed  to  be- 
come vague,  and  his  ideas  danced  about  as  diges- 
tion began. 

The  doctor,  who,  meanwhile,  had  been  drinking 
steadily,  was  getting  visibly  intoxicated,  and  Ma- 
dame Caravan  herself  felt  the  reaction  that  follows 
all  nervous  shocks,  and  was  agitated  and  excited, 
and  although  she  had  drunk  nothing  but  water  she 
felt  her  head  rather  confused. 

Presently,  Chenet  began  to  relate  stories  of 
deaths  that  appeared  amusing  to  him.  For  in  that 
suburb  of  Paris,  that  is  full  of  people  from  the 
provinces,  one  finds  that  indifference  toward  death 
which  all  peasants  show,  were  it  even  their  own 
father  or  mother ;  that  want  of  respect,  that  uncon- 
scious brutality  which  is  so  common  in  the  country, 
and  so  rare  in  Paris,  and  he  said : 

"Why,  I  was  sent  for  last  week  to  the  Rue  du 
Puteaux,  and  when  I  went,  I  found  the  patient 
dead,  and  the  whole  family  calmly  sitting  beside  the 
bed  finishing  a  bottle  of  aniseed  cordial,  which  had 
been  bought  the  night  before  to  satisfy  the  dying 
man's  fancy." 

But  Madame  Caravan  was  not  listening ;  she  was 
continually  thinking  of  the  inheritance,  and  Cara- 
van was  incapable  of  understanding  anything  fur- 
ther. 

Coffee  was  presently  served,  and  it  had  been 
made  very  strong  to  give  them  courage.  As  every 
cup  was  well  flavored  with  cognac,  it  made  all  their 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  81 

faces  red,  and  confused  their  ideas  still  more.  To 
make  matters  still  worse,  Chenet  suddenly  seized 
the  brandy  bottle  and  poured  out  "a  drop  for  each 
of  them  just  to  rinse  their  mouths  with,"  as  he 
termed  it,  and  then,  without  speaking  any  more, 
overcome  in  spite  of  themselves,  by  that  feeling,  of 
animal  comfort  which  alcohol  affords  after  dinner, 
they  slowly  sipped  the  sweet  cognac,  which  formed 
a  yellowish  sirup  at  the  bottom  of  their  cups. 

The  children  had  fallen  asleep,  and  Rosalie  car- 
ried them  off  to  bed.  Caravan,  mechanically  obey- 
ing that  wish  to  forget  oneself  which  possesses  all 
unhappy  persons,  helped  himself  to  brandy  again 
several  times,  and  his  dull  eyes  grew  bright.  At 
last  the  doctor  rose  to  go,  and  seizing  his  friend's 
arm,  he  said : 

"Come  with  me;  a  little  fresh  air  will  do  you 
good.  When  one  is  in  trouble,  one  must  not  remain 
in  one  spot." 

The  other  obeyed  mechanically,  put  on  his  hat, 
took  his  stick,  and  went  out,  and  both  of  them 
walked  arm-in-arm  toward  the  Seine,  in  the  star- 
light night. 

The  air  was  warm  and  sweet,  for  all  the  gardens 
in  the  neighborhood  were  full  of  flowers  at  that 
season  of  the  year,  and  their  fragrance,  which  is 
hardly  perceptible  during  the  day,  seemed  to  awaken 
at  the  approach  of  night,  and  mingled  with  the  light 
breezes  which  blew  upon  them  in  the  darkness. 

The  broad   avenue,   with  its  two  rows  of  gas 


82  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

lamps,  that  extended  as  far  as  the  Arc  de  Triomphe, 
was  deserted  and  silent,  but  there  was  the  distant 
roar  of  Paris,  which  seemed  to  have  a  reddish 
mist  hanging  over  it.  It  was  a  kind  of  continual 
rumbling,  which  was  at  times  answered  by  the 
whistle  of  a  train  at  full  speed,  in  the  distance,  trav- 
eling through  the  provinces  to  the  ocean. 

The  fresh  air  on  the  faces  of  the  two  men  rather 
overcame  them  at  first,  made  the  doctor  lose  his 
equilibrium  a  little,  and  increased  Caravan's  dizzi- 
ness, from  which  he  had  suffered  since  dinner.  He 
walked  as  if  in  a  dream;  his  thoughts  were  para- 
lyzed, although  he  felt  no  great  grief,  for  he  was 
in  a  state  of  mental  torpor  that  prevented  him 
from  suffering,  and  he  even  felt  a  sense  of  relief 
which  was  increased  by  the  mildness  of  the  night. 

When  they  reached  the  bridge,  they  turned  to  the 
right,  and  got  the  fresh  breeze  from  the  river,  which 
rolled  along,  calm  and  melancholy,  bordered  by  tall 
poplar  trees,  while  the  stars  looked  as  if  they  were 
floating  on  the  water  and  were  moving  with  the 
current.  A  light,  white  mist  that  floated  over  the 
opposite  banks  filled  their  lungs  with  a  sensation 
of  cold,  and  Caravan  stopped  suddenly,  for  he  was 
struck  by  that  smell  from  the  water,  which  brought 
back  old  memories  to  his  mind.  For,  in  his  mind, 
he  suddenly  saw  his  mother  again,  in  Picardy,  as 
he  had  seen*  her  years  before,  kneeling  in  front  of 
their  door,  and  washing  the  heaps  of  linen  at  her 
side,  in  the  stream  that  ran  through  their  garden. 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  83 

He  almost  fancied  that  he  could  hear  the  sound  of 
the  wooden  paddle  with  which  she  beat  the  linen  in 
the  calm  silence  of  the  country,  and  her  voice,  as 
she  called  out  to  him:  "Alfred,  bring  me  some 
soap."  And  he  smelled  that  odor  of  running  water, 
of  the  mist  rising  from  the  wet  ground,  that 
marshy  smell  which  he  should  never  forget,  and 
which  came  back  to  him  on  this  very  evening  on 
which  his  mother  died. 

He  stopped,  seized  with  a  feeling  of  despair.  A 
sudden  flash  seemed  to  reveal  to  him  the  extent  of 
his  calamity,  and  that  breath  from  the  river  plunged 
him  into  an  abyss  of  hopeless  grief.  His  life 
seemed  cut  in  half,  his  youth  disappeared,  swal- 
lowed up  by  that  death.  All  the  former  days  were 
over  and  done  with,  all  the  recollections  of  his  youth 
had  been  swept  away;  for  the  future,  there  would 
be  nobody  to  talk  to  him  of  what  had  happened  in 
days  gone  by,  of  the  people  he  had  known  of  old, 
of  his  own  part  of  the  country,  and  of  his  past  life ; 
that  was  a  part  of  his  existence  which  existed  no 
longer,  and  the  rest  might  as  well  end  now. 

Then  he  saw  "the  mother"  as  she  was  when 
young,  wearing  well-worn  dresses,  which  he  remem- 
bered for  such  a  long  time  that  they  seemed  in- 
separable from  her;  he  recollected  her  movements, 
the  different  tones  of  her  voice,  her  habits,  her 
predilections,  her  fits  of  anger,  the  wrinkles  on 
her  face,  the  movements  of  her  thin  fingers  and  all 
her  well-known  attitudes,  which  she  would  never 


84  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

take  again,  and  clutching  hold  of  the  doctor,  he 
began  to  moan  and  weep.  His  thin  legs  began  to 
tremble,  his  whole  stout  body  was  shaken  by  his 
sobs,  all  he  could  say  was : 

"My  mother,  my  poor  mother,  my  poor 
mother  1" 

But  his  companion,  who  was  still  drunk,  and  who 
intended  to  finish  the  evening  in  certain  places  of 
bad  repute  that  he  frequented  secretly,  made  him 
sit  down  on  the  grass  by  the  riverside,  and  left  him 
almost  immediately,  under  the  pretext  that  he  had 
to  see  a  patient. 

Caravan  went  on  crying  for  some  time,  and  when 
he  had  got  to  the  end  of  his  tears,  when  his  grief 
had,  so  to  say,  run  out,  he  again  felt  relief,  re- 
pose, and  sudden  tranquillity. 

The  moon  had  risen,  and  bathed  the  horizon  in 
its  soft  light. 

The  tall  poplar  trees  showed  a  silvery  sheen,  and 
the  mist  on  the  plain  looked  like  drifting  snow ;  the 
river,  in  which  the  stars  were  reflected,  and  which 
had  a  sheen  as  of  mother-of-pearl,  was  gently 
rippled  by  the  wind.  The  air  was  soft  and  sweet,  and 
Caravan  inhaled  it  almost  greedily,  and  thought 
that  he  could  perceive  a  feeling  of  freshness,  of 
calm  and  of  superhuman  consolation  pervading 
him. 

He  actually  resisted  that  feeling  of  comfort  and 
relief,  and  kept  on  saying  to  himself:  "My  mother, 
my  poor  mother!"  .  .  .  and  tried  to  make  him- 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  85 

self  cry,  from  a  kind  of  conscientious  feeling;  but 
he  could  not  succeed  in  doing  so  any  longer  and 
those  sad  thoughts,  which  had  made  him  sob  so 
bitterly  a  short  time  before,  had  almost  passed 
away.  In  a  few  moments,  he  rose  to  go  home,  and 
returned  slowly,  under  the  influence  of  that  serene 
night,  and  with  a  heart  soothed  in  spite  of  himself. 

When  he  reached  the  bridge,  he  saw  that  the 
last  car  was  ready  to  start,  and  behind  it  were  the 
brightly  lighted  windows  of  the  Cafe  du  Globe. 
He  felt  a  longing  to  tell  somebody  of  his  loss,  to 
excite  pity,  to  make  himself  interesting.  He  put 
on  a  sad  face,  pushed  open  the  door,  and  went 
up  to  the  counter,  where  the  landlord  still  was.  He 
had  counted  on  creating  a  sensation,  and  had  hoped 
that  everybody  would  get  up  and  come  to  him  with 
outstretched  hands,  and  say:  "Why,  what  is  the 
matter  with  you?"  But  nobody  noticed  his  dis- 
consolate face,  so  he  rested  his  two  elbows  on  the 
counter,  and  burying  his  face  in  his  hands,  he  mur- 
mured: "Good  heavens!  Good  heavens!" 

The  landlord  looked  at  him  and  said:  "Are  you 
ill,  Monsieur  Caravan?" 

"No,  my  friend,"  he  replied,  "but  my  mother  has 
just  died." 

"Ah!"  the  other  exclaimed,  and  as  a  customer 
at  the  other  end  of  the  establishment  asked  for  a 
glass  of  Bavarian  beer,  he  went  to  attend  to  him, 
leaving  Caravan  almost  stupefied  at  his  lack  of 
sympathy. 


86  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

The  three  domino  players  were  sitting  at  the 
same  table  which  they  had  occupied  before  dinner, 
totally  absorbed  in  their  game,  and  Caravan  went 
up  to  them  in  search  of  pity,  but  as  none  of  them 
appeared  to  notice  him,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
speak. 

"A  great  misfortune  has  happened  to  me  since 
I  was  here,"  he  said. 

All  three  slightly  raised  their  heads  at  the  same 
instant,  but  kept  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  pieces 
which  they  held  in  their  hands. 

"What  do  you  say?" 

"My  mother  has  just  died;"  whereupon  one  of 
them  said: 

"Oh!  the  devil!"  with  that  false  air  of  sorrow 
which  indifferent  people  assume.  Another,  who 
could  not  find  anything  to  say,  emitted  a  sort  of 
sympathetic  whistle,  shaking  his  head  at  the  same 
time,  and  the  third  turned  to  the  game  again,  as  if 
he  were  saying  to  himself:  "Is  that  all?" 

Caravan  had  expected  some  of  those  expressions 
that  are  said  to  "come  from  the  heart,"  and  when 
he  saw  how  his  news  was  received,  he  left  the  table, 
indignant  at  their  calmness  at  their  friend's  sorrow, 
although  this  sorrow  had  stupefied  him  so  that  he 
scarcely  felt  it  any  longer.  When  he  got  home  his 
wife  was  waiting  for  him  in  her  nightgown,  and  sit- 
ting in  a  low  chair  by  the  open  window,  still  think- 
ing of  the  inheritance. 

"Undress  yourself,"  she  said;  "we  can  talk." 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  87 

He  raised  his  head,  and  looking  at  the  ceiling, 
said: 

"But  .    .    .  there  is  nobody  upstairs." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Rosalie  is  with  her,  and  you 
can  go  and  take  her  place  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  after  you  have  had  some  sleep." 

He  only  partially  undressed,  however,  so  as  to  be 
ready  for  anything  that  might  happen,  and  after 
tying  a  silk  handkerchief  around  his  head  lay 
down  to  rest,  and  for  some  time  neither  spoke. 
Madame  Caravan  was  thinking. 

Her  nightcap  was  adorned  with  a  red  bow,  and 
was  pushed  rather  over  one  ear,  as  was  the  way 
with  all  the  caps  she  wore,  and  presently  she  turned 
towards  him  and  said  : 

"Do  you  know  whether  your  mother  made  a 
will?" 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  replied : 

"  I  .  .  .  I  do  not  think  so.  ...  No,  I  am  sure 
that  she  did  not." 

His  wife  looked  at  him,  and  she  said,  in  a  low, 
angry  tone : 

"I  call  that  infamous;  here  we  have  been  wear- 
ing ourselves  out  for  ten  years  in  looking  after  her, 
and  have  boarded  and  lodged  her!  Your  sister 
would  not  have  done  so  much  for  her,  nor  I  either, 
if  I  had  known  how  I  was  to  be  rewarded !  Yes,  it 
is  a  disgrace  to  her  memory!  I  daresay  you  will 
tell  me  that  she  paid  us,  but  one  cannot  pay  one's 
children  in  ready  money  for  what  they  do;  that 


88  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

obligation  is  recognized  after  death;  at  any  rate, 
that  is  how  honorable  people  act.  So  I  have  had 
all  my  worry  and  trouble  for  nothing!  Oh,  that  is 
fine !  that  is  very  fine !" 

Poor  Caravan,  who  was  almost  distracted,  kept 
on  repeating: 

"My  dear,  my  dear,  please  be  quiet." 

She  grew  calmer  by  degrees,  and,  resuming  her 
usual  voice  and  manner,  she  continued : 

"We  must  let  your  sister  know  to-morrow." 

He  started,  and  said: 

"Of  course,  we  must;  I  had  forgotten  all  about 
it ;  I  will  send  her  a  telegram  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning." 

"No,"  she  replied,  like  a  woman  who  had  fore- 
seen everything;  "no,  do  not  send  it  before  ten  or 
eleven  o'clock,  so  that  we  may  have  time  to  do 
things  before  she  comes.  It  does  not  take  more 
than  two  hours  to  get  here  from  Charenton,  and  we 
can  say  that  you  lost  your  wits  from  grief.  If  we 
let  her  know  in  the  course  of  the  day,  that  will  be 
soon  enough,  and  will  give  us  time  to  look  around." 

Caravan  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  and,  in  the 
same  timid  voice  in  which  he  always  spoke  of  his 
chief,  the  very  thought  of  whom  made  him  tremble, 
he  said: 

"I  must  let  them  know  at  the  office." 

"Why?"  she  replied.  "On  occasions  like  this, 
it  is  always  excusable  to  forget.  Take  my  advice, 
and  don't  let  him  know ;  your  chief  will  not  be  able 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  89 

to  say  anything  to  you,  and  you  will  put  him  in  a 
nice  fix." 

"Oh!  yes,  that  I  shall,  and  he  will  be  in  a  terrible 
rage,  too,  when  he  notices  my  absence.  Yes,  you 
are  right;  it  is  a  capital  idea,  and  when  I  tell  him 
that  my  mother  is  dead  he  will  be  obliged  to  hold 
his  tongue." 

And  he  rubbed  his  hands  in  delight  at  the  joke, 
when  he  thought  of  his  chief's  face ;  while  upstairs 
lay  the  body  of  the  dead  woman,  with  the  servant 
asleep  beside  it. 

But  Madame  Caravan  grew  thoughtful,  as  if  she 
were  preoccupied  by  something  she  did  not  care 
to  mention,  and  at  last  she  said : 

"Your  mother  had  given  you  her  clock,  had  she 
not ;  the  girl  playing  at  cup  and  ball  ?" 

He  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  replied: 

"Yes,  yes;  she  said  to  me,  but  it  was  a  long 
time  ago,  when  she  first  came  here:  'I  shall 
leave  the  clock  to  you,  if  you  look  after  me  well.' ': 

Madame  Caravan  was  reassured,  and  regained 
her  serenity  and  said: 

"Well,  then,  you  must  go  and  fetch  it  out  of  her 
room,  for  if  we  get  your  sister  here  she  will  pre- 
vent us  from  taking  it." 

He  hesitated. 

"Do  you  think  so?  .    .    ." 

That  made  her  angry. 

"I  certainly  think  so;  once  it  is  in  our  posses- 
sion, she  will  know  nothing  at  all  about  where  it 

Vol.  1—7 


90  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

came  from;  it  belongs  to  us.  It  is  just  the  same 
with  the  chest  of  drawers  with  the  marble  top  that 
is  in  her  room ;  she  gave  it  to  me  one  day  when  she 
was  in  a  good  temper.  We  will  bring  it  down  at 
the  same  time." 

Caravan,  however,  seemed  incredulous,  and  said : 

"But,  my  dear,  this  is  a  great  responsibility  to 
assume !" 

She  turned  on  him  furiously. 

"Oh!  Indeed!  Will  you  never  change?  You 
would  let  your  children  die  of  hunger  rather  than 
make  a  move.  Does  not  that  chest  of  drawers  be- 
long to  us,  since  she  gave  it  to  me?  And  if  your 
sister  is  not  satisfied,  let  her  tell  me  so,  me!  I 
don't  care  a  straw  for  your  sister.  Come,  get  up, 
and  we  will  bring  down  what  your  mother  gave  us 
immediately." 

Trembling  and  vanquished,  he  got  out  of  bed,  and 
began  to  put  on  his  trousers,  but  she  stopped  him : 

"It  is  not  worth  while  to  dress  yourself;  your 
underclothes  are  quite  enough;  I  mean  to  go  as  I 
am." 

They  both  left  the  room  in  their  night  clothes, 
went  upstairs  quite  noiselessly,  opened  the  door  and 
went  into  the  room,  where  the  four  lighted  candles 
and 'the  plate  with  the  sprig  of  box  alone  seemed 
to  be  watching  the  old  woman  in  her  rigid  repose ; 
for  Rosalie,  who  was  lying  back  in  the  easy-chair 
with  her  legs  stretched  out,  her  hands  folded  in  her 
lap,  and  her  head  on  one  side,  was  also  quite  mo- 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  91 

tionless,  and  was  snoring  with  her  mouth  wide  open. 

Caravan  took  the  clock,  which  was  one  of  those 
grotesque  objects  that  were  produced  so  plentifully 
under  the  Empire.  A  girl  in  gilt  bronze  was  hold- 
ing a  cup  and  ball,  and  the  ball  formed  the  pen- 
dulum. 

"Give  that  to  me,"  his  wife  said,  "and  take  the 
marble  slab  off  the  chest  of  drawers." 

He  put  the  marble  slab  on  his  shoulder  with  con- 
siderable effort,  and  they  left  the  room.  Caravan 
had  to  stoop  in  the  doorway,  and  trembled  as  he 
went  downstairs,  while  his  wife  walked  backward, 
so  as  to  light  him,  and  held  the  candlestick  in 
one  hand,  carrying  the  clock  under  the  other  arm. 

When  they  were  in  their  own  room,  she  heaved  a 
sigh. 

"We  have  got  over  the  worst  part  of  the  job," 
she  said;  "so  now  let  us  go  and  fetch  the  other 
things." 

But  the  bureau  drawers  were  full  of  the  old 
woman's  clothes,  which  they  must  manage  to  hide 
somewhere,  and  Madame  Caravan  soon  thought 
of  a  plan. 

"Go  and  get  that  wooden  packing-case  in  the 
vestibule ;  it  is  worth  hardly  anything,  and  we  may 
just  as  well  put  it  here." 

And  when  he  had  brought  it  upstairs,  they  began 
to  fill  it.  One  by  one,  they  took  out  all  the  collars, 
cuffs,  chemises,  caps,  all  the  well-worn  things  that 
had  belonged  to  the  poor  woman  lying  there  behind 
them,  and  arranged  them  methodically  in  the 


92  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

wooden  box,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  deceive  Ma- 
dame Braux,  the  deceased  woman's  other  child,  who 
would  arrive  the  next  day. 

When  they  had  finished,  they  first  of  all  carried 
the  bureau  drawers  downstairs,  and  the  remaining 
portion  afterward,  each  of  them  holding  an  end, 
and  it  was  some  time  before  they  could  make  up 
their  minds  where  it  would  stand  best;  but  at  last 
they  decided  upon  their  own  room,  opposite  the  bed, 
between  the  two  windows,  and  as  soon  as  it  was 
in  its  place,  Madame  Caravan  filled  it  with  her  own 
belongings.  The  clock  was  placed  on  the  chimney- 
piece  in  the  dining-room;  they  looked  to  see  what 
the  effect  was,  and  were  delighted  with  it,  agreeing 
that  nothing  could  be  better.  Then  they  retired,  she 
blew  out  the  candle,  and  soon  everybody  in  the 
house  was  asleep. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  Caravan  opened  his 
eyes  again.  His  mind  was  rather  confused  when 
he  woke  up,  and  he  did  not  clearly  remember  what 
had  happened,  for  a  few  moments ;  when  he  did,  he 
felt  a  weight  at  his  heart,  and  jumped  out  of  bed, 
almost  ready  to  cry  again. 

He  hastened  to  the  room  overhead,  where  Rosalie 
was  still  sleeping  in  the  same  position  as  the  night 
before,  not  having  awakened  once.  He  sent  her  to 
her  work,  put  fresh  tapers  in  the  place  of  those 
that  had  burned  out,  and  then  he  looked  at  his 
mother,  revolving  in  his  brain  those  apparently  pro- 
found thoughts,  those  religious  and  philosophical 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  93 

commonplaces,  which  trouble  people  of  mediocre 
intelligence  in  the  presence  of  death. 

But  as  his  wife  was  calling  him,  he  went  down- 
stairs. She  had  written  out  a  list  of  what  had  to  be 
done  during  the  morning,  and  he  was  horrified 
when  he  saw  the  memorandum : 

1.  Report  the  death  at  the  Mayor's  office. 

2.  See  the  doctor  who  had  attended  her. 

3.  Order  the  coffin. 

4.  Give  notice  at  the  church. 

5.  Go  to  the  undertaker. 

6.  Order  the  notices  of  her  death  at  the  printer's. 

7.  Go  to  the  lawyer. 

8.  Telegraph  the  news  to  all  the  family. 
Besides  all  this,  there  were  a  number  of  small 

commissions ;  so  he  took  his  hat  and  went  out.  As 
the  news  had  spread  abroad,  Madame  Caravan's 
female  friends  and  neighbors  soon  began  to  come 
in,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  see  the  body.  There 
had  been  a  scene  between  husband  and  wife  at  the 
hairdresser's  on  the  ground  floor,  about  the  mat- 
ter, while  a  customer  was  being  shaved.  The  wife, 
who  was  knitting  steadily,  said:  "Well,  there's 
one  less,  and  as  great  a  miser  as  one  ever  meets 
with.  I  certainly  did  not  care  for  her,  but  never- 
theless, I  must  go  and  have  a  look  at  her." 

The  husband,  while  lathering  his  customer's  chin, 
said:  "That  is  another  queer  fancy!  Nobody  but 
a  woman  would  think  of  such  a  thing.  It  is  not 
enough  for  them  to  worry  you  during  life,  but  they 


94  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

cannot  even  leave  you  in  peace  when  you  are  dead." 
But  his  wife,  without  being  in  the  least  discon- 
certed, replied:  "The  feeling  is  stronger  than  I 
am,  and  I  must  go.  It  has  been  on  me  since  the 
morning.  If  I  were  not  to  see  her  I  should  think 
about  it  all  my  life;  but  when  I  have  had  a  good 
look  at  her  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

The  knight  of  the  razor  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  remarked  in  a  low  voice  to  the  gentleman 
whose  cheek  he  was  scraping:  "I  just  ask  you, 
what  sort  of  ideas  do  you  think  these  confounded 
women  have  ?  I  should  not  amuse  myself  by  going 
to  see  a  corpse !"  His  wife  had  heard  him,  and  re- 
plied very  quietly:  "But  it  is  so,  it  is  so."  And 
then,  putting  her  knitting  on  the  counter,  she 
went  upstairs,  to  the  first  floor,  where  she  met  two 
other  neighbors,  who  had  just  come,  and  who  were 
discussing  the  event  with  Madame  Caravan,  who 
was  giving  them  the  details;  and  they  all  went  to- 
gether to  the  death  chamber.  The  four  women 
went  in  softly,  and,  one  after  the  other,  sprinkled 
the  bedclothes  with  holy  water,  knelt,  and  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  while  they  mumbled  a  prayer. 
Then  they  rose  from  their  knees,  and  looked  for 
some  time  at  the  corpse,  with  round,  wide-open  eyes 
and  mouths  partly  open,  while  the  daughter-in-law 
of  the  dead  woman,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her 
face,  pretended  to  be  sobbing  piteously. 

When  she  turned  about  to  walk  away,  whom 
should  she  perceive  standing  close  to  the  door  but 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  95 

Marie-Louise  and  Philippe-Auguste,  who  were  curi- 
ously taking  note  of  all  that  was  going  on.  Then 
forgetting  her  pretended  grief,  she  threw  herself 
upon  them  with  uplifted  hands,  crying  out  in  a  furi- 
ous voice,  "Will  you  get  out  of  this,  you  dirty 
brats?" 

Ten  minutes  later,  going  upstairs  again  with  an- 
other contingent  of  neighbors,  she  prayed,  wept 
profusely,  performed  all  her  duties,  and  found  once 
more  her  two  children,  who  had  followed  her  up- 
stairs. She  again  boxed  their  ears  soundly ;  but  the 
next  time  she  paid  no  heed  to  them,  and  at  each 
fresh  arrival  of  visitors  the  two  children  always 
followed  in  the  wake,  kneeling  down  in  a  corner, 
and  imitating  slavishly  everything  they  saw  their 
mother  do. 

When  the  afternoon  came,  the  crowds  of  inquisi- 
tive ones  began  to  diminish,  and  soon  there  were 
no  more  visitors.  Madame  Caravan,  returning  to 
her  own  apartments,  began  to  make  the  necessary 
preparations  for  the  funeral,  and  the  dead  woman 
was  left  alone. 

The  window  of  the  room  was  open.  A  torrid 
heat  entered  along  with  clouds  of  dust;  the  flames 
of  the  four  candles  were  flickering  beside  the  im- 
mobile corpse;  and  upon  the  cloth  which  covered 
the  face,  the  closed  eyes,  the  two  stretched-out 
hands,  small  flies  alighted,  came,  went,  and  careered 
up  and  down  incessantly,  being  the  only  companions 
of  the  old  woman  for  the  time  being. 


96  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Marie-Louise  and  Philippe-Auguste,  however,  had 
now  left  the  house,  and  were  running  up  and  down 
the  street.     They  were  soon  surrounded  by  their 
playmates,  by  little  girls,  especially,  who  were  older 
and  who  were  much  more  interested  in  all  the  mys- 
teries of  life,  asking  grown-up  questions. 
"Then  your  grandmother  is  dead?" 
"Yes,  she  died  yesterday  evening." 
"What  does  a  dead  person  look  like?" 
Then  Marie  began  to  explain,  telling  all  about 
the  candles,  the  sprig  of  box,  and  the  face  of  the 
corpse.    It  was  not  long  before  great  curiosity  was 
aroused  in  the  minds  of  all  the  children,  and  they 
asked  to  be  allowed  to  go  upstairs  to  look  at  the 
departed. 

Marie-Louise  at  once  organized  a  first  expedi- 
tion, consisting  of  five  girls  and  two  boys — the  big- 
gest and  the  most  courageous.  She  made  them  take 
off  their  shoes  so  that  they  might  not  be  discov- 
ered. The  troop  filed  into  the  house  and  went  up 
the  stairs  as  stealthily  as  an  army  of  mice. 

Once  in  the  chamber,  the  little  girl,  imitating  her 
mother,  regulated  the  ceremony.  She  solemnly 
walked  in  advance  of  her  comrades,  went  down  on 
her  knees,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  moved  her 
lips  as  in  prayer,  rose,  sprinkled  the  holy  water,  and 
while  the  children,  all  crowded  together,  were  ap- 
proaching— frightened  and  curious,  and  eager  to 
look  at  the  face  and  hands  of  the  deceased — she 
began  suddenly  to  simulate  sobbing,  and  to  bury  her 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  97 

eyes  in  her  little  handkerchief.  Then,  becoming 
instantly  consoled,  on  thinking  of  the  other  children 
who  were  downstairs  waiting  at  the  door,  she  ran 
downstairs  followed  by  the  rest,  returning  in  a  min- 
ute with  another  group,  then  a  third;  for  all  the 
little  ragamuffins  of  the  countryside,  even  to  the 
little  beggars  in  rags,  had  congregated  in  order  to 
participate  in  this  new  pleasure;  and  each  time  she 
repeated  her  mother's  grimaces  with  absolute  per- 
fection. 

At  length,  however  she  became  tired.  Some 
game  or  other  drew  the  children  away  from  the 
house,  and  the  old  grandmother  was  left  alone,  for- 
gotten suddenly  by  everybody. 

The  room  was  growing  dark,  and  upon  the  dry 
and  rigid  features  of  the  corpse  the  fitful  flames  of 
the  candles  cast  patches  of  light. 

Toward  eight  o'clock,  Caravan  went  to  the  cham- 
ber of  death,  closed  the  windows,  and  renewed  the 
candles.  He  was  now  quite  composed  on  entering 
the  room,  accustomed  already  to  regard  the  corpse 
as  if  it  had  been  there  for  months.  He  even  went 
the  length  of  declaring  that,  as  yet,  there  were  no 
signs  of  decomposition,  making  this  remark  just  at 
the  moment  when  he  and  his  wife  were  about  to 
sit  down  at  table.  "Pshaw!"  she  responded,  "she 
is  now  in  wood ;  she  will  keep  for  a  year." 

The  soup  was  eaten  in  silence.  The  children, 
who  had  been  left  to  themselves  all  day,  now  worn 
out  by  fatigue,  were  sleeping  soundly  on  their 


98  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

chairs,  and  nobody  ventured  to  break  the  silence. 

Suddenly  the  flame  of  the  lamp  went  down. 
Madame  Caravan  immediately  turned  up  the  wick, 
a  hollow  sound  ensued,  and  the  light  went  out. 
They  had  forgotten  to  buy  oil.  To  send  for  it  now 
to  the  grocer's  would  keep  back  the  dinner,  and  they 
began  to  look  for  candles ;  but  none  were  to  be 
found  except  the  tapers  which  had  been  placed  upon 
the  table  upstairs,  in  the  death  chamber. 

Madame  Caravan,  always  prompt  in  her  deci- 
sions, quickly  despatched  Marie-Louise  to  fetch  two, 
and  her  return  was  awaited  in  total  darkness. 

The  footsteps  of  the  girl  who  had  ascended  the 
stairs  were  distinctly  heard.  There  was  silence  for 
a  few  seconds,  and  then  the  child  descended  pre- 
cipitately. She  threw  open  the  door,  and  in  a  chok- 
ing voice  murmured:  "Oh!  papa,  grandmother  is 
dressing  herself!" 

Caravan  bounded  to  his  feet  with  such  precipi- 
tance that  his»chair  fell  over  against  the  wall.  He 
stammered  out:  "You  say?  .  .  .  What  are 
you  saying?" 

But  Marie-Louise,  gasping  with  emotion,  re- 
peated: "Grand  .  .  .  grand  .  .  .  grand- 
mother is  putting  on  her  clothes;  she  is  coming 
downstairs." 

Caravan  rushed  boldly  up  the  staircase,  followed 
by  his  wife,  dumf ounded ;  but  he  came  to  a  stand- 
still before  the  door  of  the  second  floor,  overcome 
with  terror,  not  daring  to  enter.  What  was  he 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  99 

about  to  see?  Madame  Caravan,  more  courageous, 
turned  the  handle  of  the  door  and  stepped  forward 
into  the  room. 

The  room  seemed  to  have  become  darker,  and  in 
the  middle  of  it  a  tall  emaciated  figure  moved 
about.  The  old  woman  was  standing  up,  and  in 
awakening  from  her  lethargic  sleep,  before  even  re- 
gaining full  consciousness,  in  turning  upon  her  side, 
and  raising  herself  on  her  elbow,  she  had  extin- 
guished three  of  the  candles  which  burned  near  the 
bed.  Then,  gaining  strength,  she  got  off  the  bed 
and  began  to  look  for  her  clothes.  The  absence  of 
her  chest  of  drawers  had  at  first  worried  her,  but, 
after  a  little,  she  had  succeeded  in  finding  her  gar- 
ments at  the  bottom  of  the  wooden  box,  and  was 
now  quietly  dressing.  She  emptied  the  plateful  of 
water,  replaced  the  sprig  of  box  behind  the  looking- 
glass,  and  arranged  the  chairs  in  their  places,  and 
was  ready  to  go  downstairs  when  her  son  and 
daughter-in-law  appeared  before  her. 

Caravan  rushed  forward,  seized  her  by  the  hands, 
embraced  her  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  while  his  wife, 
who  was  behind  him,  repeated  in  a  hypocritical  tone 
of  voice:  "Oh,  what  a  blessing!  What  a  blessing!" 

But  the  old  woman,  without  being  at  all  moved, 
without  even  appearing  to  understand,  rigid  as  a 
statue,  and  with  glazed  eyes,  simply  asked:  "Will 
dinner  soon  be  ready  ?" 

He  stammered  out,  not  knowing  what  he  said : 

"Oh,  yes,  mother,  we  have  been  waiting  for  you." 


100  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

And,  with  an  alacrity  unusual  in  him,  he  took  her 
arm,  while  Madame  Caravan,  the  younger,  seized 
the  candle  and  lighted  them  downstairs,  walking 
backward  in  front  of  them,  step  by  step,  just  as  she 
had  done  the  previous  night  for  her  husband,  who 
was  carrying  the  marble. 

On  reaching  the  first  floor,  she  almost  ran  against 
people  who  were  ascending  the  stairs.  It  was  the 
Charenton  family,  Madame  Braux,  followed  by  her 
husband. 

The  wife,  tall  and  stout,  with  a  prominent  stom- 
ach, opened  wide  her  terrified  eyes,  and  was  ready 
to  make  her  escape.  The  husband,  a  socialist  shoe- 
maker, a  little  hairy  man,  the  perfect  image  of  a 
monkey,  murmured,  quite  unconcerned:  "Well, 
what  next?  Is  she  resurrected ?J> 

As  soon  as  Madame  Caravan  recognized  them, 
she  made  despairing  signs  to  them,  then,  speaking 
aloud,  she  said:  "Why,  here  you  are!  What  a 
pleasant  surprise !" 

But  Madame  Braux,  dumbfounded,  understood 
nothing;  she  responded  in  a  low  voice:  "It  was 
your  telegram  that  brought  us ;  we  thought  that  all 
was  over." 

Her  husband,  who  was  behind  her,  pinched  her 
to  make  her  keep  silent.  He  added  with  a  sly 
laugh,  which  his  thick  beard  concealed:  "It  was 
very  kind  of  you  to  invite  us  here.  We  set  out 
post  haste;"  which  remark  showed  the  hostility 
which  had  for  a  long  time  reigned  between  the 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  101 

households.  Then,  just  as  the  old  woman  reached 
the  last  steps,  he  pushed  forward  quickly  and 
rubbed  his  hairy  face  against  her  cheeks,  shouting  in 
her  ear,  because  of  her  deafness:  "How  well  you 
look,  mother ;  strong  as  usual,  eh  ?" 

Madame  Braux,  in  her  stupefaction  at  seeing 
alive  the  old  woman  whom  they  all  believed  to  be 
dead,  dared  not  even  embrace  her;  and  her  enor- 
mous bulk  blocked  up  the  passage  and  hindered  the 
others  from  advancing.  The  old  woman,  uneasy 
and  suspicious,  but  without  speaking,  looked  at 
everyone  around  her ;  and  her  little  gray  eyes,  pierc- 
ing and  hard,  fixed  themselves  now  on  one  and  now 
on  the  other,  and  they  were  so  full  of  meaning  that 
the  children  became  frightened. 

Caravan,  to  explain  matters  said :  "  She  has  been 
somewhat  ill,  but  she  is  better  now ;  quite  well,  in- 
deed, are  you  not,  mother?" 

Then  the  good  woman,  continuing  to  walk,  re- 
plied in  a  husky  voice,  as  if  it  came  from  a  dis- 
tance: "It  was  syncope.  I  heard  you  all  the 
while." 

An  embarrassing  silence  followed.  They  entered 
the  dining-room,  and  in  a  few  minutes  all  sat  down 
to  an  improvised  dinner. 

Only  M.  Braux  retained  his  self-possession;  his 
gorilla  features  grinned  wickedly,  while  he  let  fall 
some  words  of  double  meaning  which  painfully  dis- 
concerted every  one. 

But  the  doorbell  kept  ringing  every  second;  and 


102  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Rosalie,  distracted,  came  to  call  Caravan,  who 
rushed  out,  throwing  down  his  napkin.  His  broth- 
er-in-law even  asked  him  whether  it  was  not  one  of 
his  reception  days,  to  which  he  stammered  out,  in 
answer:  "No,  only  a  few  packages ;  nothing  more." 

A  parcel  was  brought  in,  which  he  began  to  open 
carelessly,  and  the  mourning  announcements  witl 
black  borders  appeared  unexpectedly.  Reddening 
up  to  the  very  eyes,  he  closed  the  package  hurriedly, 
and  pushed  it  under  his  waistcoat. 

His  mother  had  not  seen  it!  She  was  looking 
intently  at  her  clock  which  stood  on  the  mantel- 
piece, and  the  embarrassment  increased  in  midst  of 
a  dead  silence.  Turning  her  wrinkled  face  toward 
her  daughter,  the  old  •  woman,  in  whose  eyes 
gleamed  malice,  said:  "On  Monday  you  must  take 
me  away  from  here,  so  that  I  can  see  your  little 
girl.  I  want  so  much  to  see  her."  Madame  Braux, 
her  features  illuminated,  exclaimed:  "Yes,  mother, 
that  I  will,"  while  Madame  Caravan,  the  younger, 
who  had  turned  pale,  endured  the  most  excruciat- 
ing agony.  The  two  men,  however,  gradually 
drifted  into  conversation,  and  soon  became  em- 
broiled in  a  political  discussion.  Braux  maintained 
the  most  revolutionary  and  communistic  doctrines, 
his  eyes  glowing,  and  gesticulating  and  throwing 
about  his  arms.  "Property,  sir,"  he  said,  "is  a 
robbery  perpetrated  on  the  working  classes;  the 
land  is  the  common  property  of  every  man ;  heredi- 
tary rights  are  an  infamy  and  a  disgrace."  But 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  103 

here  he  suddenly  stopped,  looking  as  if  he  had 
just  said  something  foolish;  then  added,  in  softer 
tones:  "But  this  is  not  the  proper  moment  to  dis- 
cuss such  things." 

The  door  opened,  and  Dr.  Chenet  appeared.  For 
a  moment  he  seemed  bewildered,  but,  regaining  his 
usual  smirking  expression  of  countenance,  he  jaun- 
tily approached  the  old  woman,  and  said:  "Aha! 
mamma,  you  are  better  today.  Oh!  I  never  had 
any  doubt  but  you  would  come  round  again ;  in  fact, 
I  said  to  myself  as  I  was  mounting  the  staircase, 
'I  have  an  idea  that  I  shall  find  the  old  lady  on 
her  feet  once  more';"  and  as  he  patted  her  gently 
on  the  back:  "Ah!  she  is  as  solid  as  the  Pont- 
Neuf ;  she  will  bury  us  all ;  see  if  she  does  not." 

He  sat  down,  accepted  the  coffee  that  was  offered 
him,  and  soon  began  to  join  in  the  conversation  of 
the  two  men,  backing  up  Braux,  for  he  himself 
had  been  mixed  up  in  the  Commune. 

The  old  woman,  now  feeling  herself  fatigued, 
wished  to  retire.  Caravan  rushed  forward.  She 
looked  him  steadily  in  the  eye  and  said:  "You, 
you  must  carry  my  clock  and  chest  of  drawers  up- 
stairs again  without  a  moment's  delay."  "Yes, 
mamma,"  he  replied,  gasping;  "yes,  I  will  do  so." 
The  old  woman  then  took  the  arm  of  her  daughter 
and  withdrew  from  the  room.  The  two  Caravans 
remained  astounded,  silent,  plunged  in  the  deepest 
despair,  while  Braux  rubbed  his  hands  and  sipped 
his  coffee,  gleefully. 


104  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Suddenly  Madame  Caravan,  consumed  with  rage, 
rushed  at  him,  exclaiming:  "You  are  a  thief,  a 
footpad,  a  cur.  I  would  spit  in  your  face,  if  ... 
I  would  .  .  .1  .  .would  .  .  ."  She 

could  find  nothing  further  to  say,  suffocating  as  she 
was,  with  rage,  while  he  went  on  sipping  his  coffee, 
with  a  smile. 

His  wife  returning  just  then,  Madame  Caravan 
attacked  her  sister-in-law,  and  the  two  women — the 
one  with  her  enormous  bulk,  the  other  epileptic  and 
spare,  with  changed  voices  and  trembling  hands — 
flew  at  each  other  with  words  of  abuse. 

Chenet  and  Braux  interposed,  and  the  latter  tak- 
ing his  wife  by  the  shoulders  pushed  her  out  of 
the  door  before  him,  shouting:  "Go  on,  you  fool! 
you  talk  too  much;"  and  the  two  were  heard  in 
the  street  quarreling  until  they  disappeared. 

Dr.  Chenet  also  took  his  departure,  leaving  the 
Caravans  alone,  face  to  face.  The  husband  fell  back 
on  his  chair,  and  with  the  cold  sweat  standing  out 
in  beads  on  his  temples,  murmured:  "What  shall 
I  say  to  my  chief  to-morrow?" 


THE  ARTIST'S  MODEL 

THE  sun  was  shining  on  a  beautiful  July  day 
on  the  little  crescent-shaped  town  of  Etretat, 
with  its  white  cliffs,  shining  pebbles  and  blue 
sea.  At  the  ends  of  the  crescent  were  two  points  of 
land;  the  smaller  one  to  the  right,  the  larger  to 
the  left,  stretching  out  into  the  quiet  water. 

On  the  beach  a  crowd  was  watching  the  bathers. 
On  the  porch  of  the  Casino  another  crowd,  some 
resting,  some  walking,  was  displaying  under  the 
bright  sky  a  wonderful  garden  of  beautiful  gowns 
set  off  by  red  and  blue  parasols,  on  which  were  em- 
broidered large  silk  flowers. 

Along  the  promenade,  at  the  end  of  the  porch, 
other  persons  of  quiet  taste,  were  walking  slowly, 
far  from  the  elegant  throng. 

A  famous  young  painter,  Jean  Summer,  was 
strolling  sadly  beside  an  invalid's  chair,  in  which  a 
young  woman  was  resting,  his  wife.  A  servant  was 
slowly  pushing  this  rolling  armchair  and  the  cripple 
was  sadly  contemplating  the  bright  sky,  the  beauti- 
ful day,  and  the  joy  of  others. 

Vol.  1—8  105 


106  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

They  neither  spoke  to  nor  looked  at  each  other. 

"Let  us  stop  a  minute,"  said  the  woman. 

They  stopped,  and  the  artist  sat  on  a  little  camp- 
chair,  offered  him  by  the  servant. 

Those  passing  near  the  silent  and  motionless 
couple  looked  at  them  pityingly.  There  was  a 
romantic  story  concerning  his  devotion,  to  the  effect 
that,  moved  by  her  love,  he  had  married  her  not- 
withstanding her  infirmity. 

Not  far  away  two  young  men,  seated  on  a  cap- 
stan with  their  gaze  lost  in  the  distance,  were  talk- 
ing. 

"No,  that  is  not  true;  I  tell  you  I  know  Jean 
Summer  very  well." 

"But  then  why  did  he  marry  her?  She  was 
already  crippled  at  the  time  of  the  marriage,  wasn't 
she?" 

"Certainly.  He  married  her  .  .  .well  .  .  . 
foolishly,  of  course !" 

"Well?  ..." 

"There  is  no  'well,'  my  friend,  there  is  no 
'well.'  A  man  is  a  fool  because  he  is  a  fool.  And 
then,  you  know  very  well  that  artists  have  a  fancy 
for  contracting  ridiculous  marriages;  almost  all 
of  them  marry  models,  former  sweethearts,  wrecks 
of  every  description.  Why?  Who  knows?  One 
would  think  that  constant  intercourse  with  the 
genus  model  would  disgust  them  forever  with  this 
class  of  females.  Not  at  all.  After  having  them 
pose  for  them  they  marry  them.  Just  read  that 


THE  ARTIST'S  MODEL  107 

little  book  by  Alphonse  Daudet:  Artists'   Wives. 

"As  to  the  couple  you  see  there,  the  accident 
occurred  in  a  peculiar  and  terrible  manner.  The 
little  woman  played  a  comedy,  or  rather  a  frightful 
tragedy.  She  risked  all  for  everything.  Was  she 
sincere?  Wid  she  love  Jean?  How  can  one  tell? 
Who  can  ever  tell  exactly  how  much  ruse  and  how 
much  sincerity  there  is  in  the  actions  of  a  woman? 
They  are  always  sincere  in  an  eternal  mobility  of 
impressions.  They  are  hot-tempered,  criminal,  de- 
voted, admirable,  and  base,  in  obedience  to  incom- 
prehensible emotions.  They  lie  continually,  with- 
out wishing  to,  without  knowing  it,  without  un- 
derstanding it  and,  notwithstanding  all  that,  they 
have  an  absolute  frankness  of  sensations  and  of 
sentiments  which  they  express  by  violent,  unex- 
pected, incomprehensible  resolutions  which  set  at 
naught  our  habits  of  thought  and  all  our  selfish 
combinations.  The  unexpectedness  and  rapidity 
of  their  decisions  are  the  reason  why  they  remain 
for  us  hopeless  puzzles.  We  always  ask  ourselves : 
'Are  they  sincere?  Are  they  false?' 

"But,  my  friend,  they  are  simultaneously  sin- 
cere and  false,  because  it  is  in  their  nature  to 
be  both  in  extremes,  and  neither  one  nor  the  other. 

"Observe  the  methods  which  the  best  of  them 
use  in  order  to  obtain  something  which  they  de- 
sire. They  are  at  once  complex  and  simple ;  so  com- 
plicated that  we  never  can  guess  them  beforehand, 
so  simple  that  after  being  made  victims,  we  can- 


108  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

not  help  being  surprised  and  saying  to  ourselves: 
'What!  Was  I  as  gullible  as  that?' 

"And  they  always  succeed,  especially  when  mar- 
riage is  the  object. 

"But  here  is  the  story  of  Jean  Summer: 

"The  little  woman  was,  naturally,  a  model.  She 
used  to  pose  for  him.  She  was  pretty,  extremely 
elegant,  and  blessed,  so  they  say,  with  a  divine  fig- 
ure. He  fell  in  love  with  her,  as  one  falls  in  love 
with  any  seductive  woman  whom  one  sees  very 
often.  He  imagined  that  he  loved  her  with  all 
his  heart.  That  is  a  singular  phenomenon.  As 
soon  as  you  desire  a  woman  you  sincerely  believe 
that  you  could  not  go  through  life  without  her. 
You  know  perfectly  well  that  the  same  thing  has 
happened  to  you  before;  that  disgust  has  always 
followed  possession;  that  in  order  to  live  out  one's 
life  beside  another  being,  not  a  quickly  extinguished, 
brutal,  physical  appetite  is  needed,  but  a  harmony 
of  temperament,  of  soul,  and  of  character.  You 
must  know  how  to  distinguish  in  this  seduction 
which  one  feels,  whether  it  is  caused  by  physical 
attraction,  by  a  certain  sensuous  intoxication,  or 
by  a  sweet  charm  of  the  mind. 

"He  thought  that  he  loved  her;  he  made  her 
many  promises  of  faithfulness,  and  he  lived  en- 
tirely with  her. 

"She  was  really  charming,  gifted  with  the  ele- 
gant simplicity  which  the  Parisian  woman  so  eas- 
ily acquires.  She  chatted,  she  gossiped,  she  said 


THE  ARTIST'S  MODEL  109 

foolish  little  things  that  seemed  witty  because  of 
her  quaint  little  ways.  Her  gestures  were  always 
graceful,  well  made  and  pleasing  to  the  eye  of  an 
artist.  Whether  she  was  lifting  her  arms  or  lean- 
ing over,  whether  she  was  getting  into  a  carriage 
or  holding  out  her  hand  to  you,  her  movements 
were  always  exactly  right. 

"For  three  months  Jean  did  not  notice  that  she 
was  like  all  other  models.  They  hired,  for  the 
summer,  a  little  house  at  Andressy. 

"I  was  there  one  evening  when  the  first  doubts 
dawned  upon  my  friend. 

"As  the  night  was  glorious  we  wished  to  take 
a  walk  beside  the  river.  The  moon  cast  a  shimmer- 
ing light  across  the  water  which  was  reflected  back 
in  silver  beams  by  the  eddies  of  the  swirling  cur- 
rent. 

"We  were  walking  along  the  banks,  slightly  in- 
toxicated by  this  vague  exaltation  which  is  cast 
over  us  on  these  dream-evenings.  We  felt  like 
accomplishing  superhuman  things,  like  loving  un- 
known, beautifully  poetic  beings.  We  felt  within 
us  strange  raptures,  desires,  and  aspirations.  We 
were  silent,  carried  away  by  the  freshness  of  the 
beautiful  night,  and  by  this  mystic  moonlight  which 
seems  to  shine  through  the  body,  to  penetrate  it, 
to  bathe  and  perfume  our  minds  and  to  fill  them 
with  joy. 

"Suddenly  Josephine  (her  name  is  Josephine) 
exclaimed : 


110  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"  'Oh!  did  you  see  the  big  fish  jump  over 
there?' 

"He  answered  without  looking,  without  even 
knowing : 

"  'Yes,  dearie.' 

"She  grew  angry. 

"  'No,  you  didn't  see  it,  your  back  was  turned." 

"He  smiled: 

"  'I  know  it.  It's  such  a  beautiful  evening  that 
I  wasn't  thinking  of  anything.' 

"She  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  then  asked: 

"  'Are  you  going  to  Paris  to-morrow?' 

"He  answered: 

"  'I  don't  know.' 

"And  once  more  she  grew  angry. 

"  'If  you  think  it's  amusing  to  walk  without 
saying  anything,  you're  mistaken.  Anybody  but  a 
fool  would  say  something!' 

"He  did  not  answer.  Then,  with  her  perverse 
woman's  instinct,  realizing  that  she  would  exasper- 
ate him,  she  began  to  hum  a  tune  which  she  knew 
he  detested. 

"He  murmured: 

"  'Please  stop !' 

"Furious,  she  cried: 

"  'Why  do  you  wish  me  to  stop?' 

"He  answered: 

"  'You  are  spoiling  the  scenery !' 

"Then  came  the  odious,  foolish  scene,  with  its 
unexpected  reproaches,  its  tempestuous  recrimina- 


THE  ARTIST'S  MODEL  111 

tions,  and  then  tears.  She  went  through  the  whole 
programme.  They  went  home.  He  had  let  her  run 
on  without  answering,  deadened  by  this  divine 
evening  and  thunderstruck  by  this  storm  of  abuse. 

"Three  months  later  they  were  hopelessly  strug- 
gling with  these  invincible  and  invisible  bonds  with 
which  custom  surrounds  our  life.  She  held  him, 
oppressed  and  tortured  him.  They  quarreled  from 
morning  till  night,  insulting  and  wounding  each 
other. 

"Finally  he  decided  to  break  off  at  any  price. 
He  sold  all  his  canvases,  borrowed  money  from 
his  friends,  scraped  together  twenty  thousand 
francs  (he  was  not  yet  famous),  and  one  morn- 
ing he  left  them  on  the  mantelpiece  with  a  fare- 
well letter. 

"He  sought  shelter  with  me. 

"At  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the 
doorbell  rang.  I  opened  the  door.  A  woman 
jumped  at  me,  pushed  me  aside  and  rushed  into 
my  studio;  it  was  she! 

"He  rose  on  seeing  her  enter. 

"She  threw  the  envelope  containing  the  money 
at  his  feet  with  a  gesture  that  was  really  noble  and 
said  dryly: 

"  'Here  is  your  money !    I  don't  want  it.' 

"She  was  very  pale,  trembling,  and  undoubt- 
edly prepared  to  do  anything.  As  for  him,  I  saw 
him  also  grow  pale,  pale  from  anger  and  exas- 
peration, and  ready  to  commit  any  act  of  violence. 


112  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"  'What  do  you  wish  ?'  he  asked. 

"  'I  do  not  wish  to  be  treated  like  any  common 
woman,'  she  answered.  'You  sought  me  out;  you 
took  me.  I  asked  nothing  of  you.  Keep  me!' 

"  He  stamped  his  foot : 

"  'No,  this  is  too  much !  If  you  think  that 
you  .  .  .' 

"I  had  taken  him  by  the  arm. 

"  'Quiet,  Jean.    Let  me  handle  this.' 

"I  went  to  her,  and  quietly,  little  by  little,  1 
talked  reason  to  her.  I  used  all  the  arguments  com- 
monly employed  on  these  occasions.  She  listened 
to  me,  motionless,  obstinate  and  dumb. 

"At  last,  no  longer  knowing  what  to  do,  and 
seeing  that  the  affair  might  end  badly,  I  resorted 
to  a  last  stratagem.  I  said : 

"  'He  still  loves  you,  little  one,  but  his  family 
wish  him  to  marry,  and  you  understand !  .  .  . ' 

"She  jumped  up: 

"  'Ah   ...      Ah !   ...      I   understand.   .    .    . 

"Turning  toward  him: 

"  'You  .  .  .  you  .  .  .  are  going  to  be  mar- 
ried?' 

"He  answered  firmly: 

"  'Yes.' 

"She  stepped  forward: 

"  'If  you  marry,  I  will  kill  myself  ...  do  you 
understand  ?' 

"Shrugging  his  shoulders  he  answered: 

"  'Well  ...  go  ahead  .    .    .  kill  yourself !' 


THE  ARTIST'S  MODEL  113 

"She  gasped  two  or  three  times,  her  throat  con- 
tracted by  terrible  agony : 

"'What?  .  .  .  What?  .  .  .  What?  ...  say 
that  again !' 

"He  repeated: 

"  'Go  ahead,  and  kill  yourself  if  it  will  give  you 
any  pleasure !' 

"She  continued,  still  terribly  pale: 

"  'You  had  better  not  dare  me.  I  will  throw 
myself  out  of  the  window.' 

"  He  began  to  laugh,  went  to  the  window,  opened 
it,  and  bowing,  like  a  person  who  does  not  wish  to 
pass  first,  he  said: 

"  'Here  is  the  way.    After  you!' 

"She  looked  at  him  for  a  minute  with  a  terrible 
wild  look;  then,  gathering  speed  as  if  to  jump  a 
fence  in  the  field,  she  rushed  past  me,  past  him, 
over  the  railing  and  out  of  sight.  .  .  . 

"I  never  shall  forget  the  effect  this  open  win- 
«*ow  produced  on  me,  after  seeing  it  traversed  by 
the  body  that  was  falling;  for  a  second  it  seemed 
to  me  to  be  as  large  as  the  sky  and  as  empty  as 
space.  Instinctively  I  fell  back,  not  daring  to  look, 
as  if  I  were  about  to  fall  myself. 

"Jean,  dazed,  stood  motionless. 
"The  poor  girl  was  brought  back  with  both  legs 
broken.     She  never  will  walk  again. 

"Her  lover,  crazed  by  remorse,  and  perhaps  also 
moved  by  gratitude,  took  her  back  and  married 
her. 


114  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"There  is  the  story." 

Night  was  approaching.  The  young  woman,  feel- 
ing cool,  wished  to  go;  and  the  servant  began  to 
roll  the  cripple's  chair  toward  the  village.  The 
artist  walked  beside  his  wife.  Neither  of  them  had 
spoken  a  word  for  an  hour. 


THE  LETTERS 

THE  woman  had  died  painlessly,  quietly,  as  a 
woman  should  whose  life  has  been  blame- 
less. Now  she  was  resting  in  her  bed,  lying 
on  her  back,  her  eyes  closed,  her  features  calm, 
her  long  white  hair  carefully  arranged  as  if  she 
had  arranged  it  ten  minutes  before  dying;  the  whole 
pale  countenance  of  the  dead  woman  was  so  col- 
lected, so  calm,  so  resigned,  that  one  could  feel 
what  a  sweet  soul  had  lived  in  that  body,  what 
a  quiet  existence  this  old  soul  had  led,  how  easy 
and  pure  the  death  of  this  ancestor  had  been. 

Kneeling  beside  the  bed,  her  son,  a  magistrate 
with  inflexible  principles,  and  her  daughter,  Mar- 
guerite, known  as  Sister  Eulalie,  were  weeping  as 
if  their  hearts  would  break.  From  their  childhood 
the  mother  had  armed  them  with  a  strict  moral 
code,  teaching  them  religion  without  weakness  and 
duty  without  compromise.  He,  the  man,  had  be- 
come a  judge,  and  handled  the  law  as  a  weapon 
with  which  he  smote  the  weak  ones  without  pity. 
She,  the  girl,  influenced  by  the  virtue  which  had 
115 


116  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

bathed  her  in  this  austere  family,  had  become  the 
bride  of  Heaven  through  her  loathing  for  man. 

They  had  hardly  known  their  father,  knowing 
only  that  he  had  made  their  mother  unhappy,  with- 
out being  told  any  of  the  details. 

The  nun  was  wildly  kissing  the  dead  woman's 
hand,  an  ivory  hand  as  white  as  the  large  figure  of 
Christ  lying  across  the  bed.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
long  body,  the  other  hand  seemed  still  to  be  clutch- 
ing the  sheet  in  the  death  grasp ;  and  the  sheet  had 
preserved  the  little  creases  as  a  memory  of  those 
last  movements  that  precede  eternal  immobility. 

A  few  light  taps  on  the  door  caused  the  two 
mourners  to  look  up,  and  the  priest,  who  had  just 
come  from  dinner,  returned.  He  was  red  and  out 
of  breath  from  his  interrupted  digestion,  for  he  had 
made  himself  a  strong  mixture  of  coffee  and  brandy 
in  order  to  combat  the  fatigue  of  the  last  few  nights 
and  of  the  wake. 

He  looked  sad,  with  that  assumed  sadness  of  the 
priest  for  whom  death  is  a  bread-winner.  He 
crossed  himself,  and  approaching  with  his  profes- 
sional gesture:  "Well,  my  poor  children!  I  have 
come  to  help  you  pass  these  last  sad  hours."  But 
Sister  Eulalie  rose  suddenly.  "Thank  you,  father, 
but  my  brother  and  I  prefer  to  remain  alone  with 
her.  This  is  our  last  chance  to  see  her,  and  we  wish 
to  be  together,  all  three  of  us,  as  we — we — used  to 
be  when  we  were  small  and  our  poor  mo — mother 
"  Grief  stopped  her;  she  could  not  continue. 


THE  LETTERS  117 

Once  more  serene,  the  priest  bowed,  thinking  of 
his  bed.  "As  you  wish,  my  children."  He  kneeled, 
crossed  himself,  prayed,  arose,  and  went  out  quietly, 
murmuring:  "She  was  a  saint!" 

They  remained  alone,  the  dead  woman  and  her 
children.  The  ticking  of  the  clock,  hidden  in  the 
shadow,  could  be  heard  distinctly,  and  through  the 
open  window  drifted  in  with  the  soft  moonlight 
the  sweet  smell  of  hay  and  of  woods.  No  other 
noise  could  be  heard  except  the  occasional  croak- 
ing of  a  frog  or  the  chirping  of  some  belated  insect. 
An  infinite  peace,  a  divine  melancholy,  a  silent 
serenity  surrounded  this  dead  woman,  seeming  to 
emanate  from  her  and  to  appease  nature  itself. 

Then  the  judge,  still  kneeling,  his  head  buried 
in  the  bedclothes,  cried  in  a  voice  altered  by 
grief  and  stifled  by  the  sheets  and  blankets: 
:i Mamma,  mamma,  mamma!"  And  his  sister, 
frantically  striking  her  forehead  against  the  wood- 
work, convulsed,  twitching  and  trembling  as  in  an 
epileptic  fit,  moaned:  "Jesus,  Jesus,  mamma, 
Jesus!"  And  both,  shaken  by  a  storm  of  grief, 
sobbed  and  choked. 

The  crisis  slowly  calmed  down  and  they  wept 
quietly,  as  when  a  calm  spell  follows  a  squall  on 
the  sea. 

Some  time  passed,  and  they  arose  and  looked  at 
their  dear  dead.  And  memories,  those  distant  mem- 
ories, yesterday  so  dear,  today  so  torturing,  came  to 
their  minds  with  all  the  little  forgotten  details,  those 


118  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

little  intimate  familiar  details  that  bring  back  to 
life  the  one  who  has  gone.  They  recalled  to  each 
other  circumstances,  words,  smiles,  intonations  of 
the  mother  who  was  no  longer  to  speak  to  them. 
They  saw  her  again  happy  and  calm ;  they  remem- 
bered things  she  had  said,  and  a  little  motion  of  her 
hand,  as  if,  beating  time,  which  she  often  used  when 
emphasizing  her  words. 

They  loved  her  as  they  never  had  loved  her 
before.  They  measured  the  depth  of  their  grief, 
and  thus  discovered  how  lonely  they  would  find 
themselves. 

It  was  their  prop,  their  guide,  their  whole  youth, 
all  the  best  part  of  their  lives  that  was  disappear- 
ing ;  it  was  their  bond  with  life,  their  mother,  their 
mamma,  the  connecting  link  with  their  forefathers, 
which  they  would  thenceforth  miss.  They  now  be- 
came solitary,  lonely  beings;  they  could  no  longer 
look  back. 

The  nun  said  to  her  brother:  "You  remember 
how  mamma  used  often  to  read  over  her  old  letters ; 
they  are  all  in  that  drawer.  Let  us,  in  turn,  read 
them,  let  us  live  her  whole  life  tonight  beside  her! 
It  would  be  like  a  road  to  the  cross,  like  making 
the  acquaintance  of  her  mother,  of  our  grandpar- 
ents, whom  we  never  knew,  but  whose  letters  are 
there  and  of  whom  she  so  often  spoke,  do  you 
remember  ?" 

From  the  drawer  they  took  about  ten  little  pack- 
ages of  yellow  paper,  tied  with  care  and  arranged 


THE  LETTERS  119 

one  beside  another.  They  laid  these  relics  on  the 
bed  and  chose  one  of  them  on  which  the  word 
"Father"  was  written;  they  opened  and  read  it. 

It  was  one  of  those  old-fashioned  letters  that 
one  finds  in  old  family  desks,  those  epistles  that 
smell  of  another  century.  The  first  began:  "My 
dear,"  another  one:  "My  beautiful  little  girl," 
others:  "My  dear  child,"  or:  "My  dear  daugh- 
ter." And  suddenly  the  nun  began  to  read  aloud, 
to  read  over  to  the  dead  woman  her  whole  history, 
all  her  tender  memories.  The  judge,  resting  his 
elbow  on  the  bed,  listened  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
his  mother.  The  motionless  body  seemed  happy. 

Sister  Eulalie,  interrupting  herself,  said  sud- 
denly: "These  should  be  put  in  the  grave  with 
her;  they  ought  to  be  used  as  a  shroud  and  she 
should  be  buried  in  it."  She  took  another  pack- 
age, on  which  no  revealing  name  was  written.  She 
began  to  read  in  a  firm  voice:  "My  adored  one,  I 
love  you  wildly.  Since  yesterday  I  have  been  suf- 
fering the  tortures  of  the  damned,  haunted  by  your 
memory.  I  feel  your  lips  against  mine,  your  eyes 
in  mine,  your  breast  against  mine.  I  love  you,  I 
love  you!  You  have  driven  me  mad.  My  arms 
open,  I  gasp,  moved  by  a  wild  desire  to  have  you 
again.  My  soul  and  body  cry  out  for  you,  want 
you.  I  have  kept  on  my  lips  the  taste  of  your 
kisses.  ..." 

The  judge  straightened  himself ;  the  nun  stopped 
reading;  he  snatched  the  letter  from  her  hand  and 


120  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

looked  for  the  signature.  There  was  none,  but  only 
under  the  words :  "The  man  who  adores  you,"  the 
name  "Henri."  Their  father's  name  was  Rene! 
Therefore  this  was  not  from  him.  The  son  then 
quickly  rummaged  through  the  package  of  letters, 
took  one  out  and  read :  "  I  can  no  longer  live  with- 
out your  caresses .  .  .  . "  Standing,  severe  as  when 
sitting  on  the  bench,  he  looked  unmoved  at  the  dead 
woman.  The  nun,  straight  as  a  statue,  with  tears 
in  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  watched  her  brother, 
waiting.  He  crossed  the  room  slowly,  went  to  the 
window  and  with  his  looks  lost  in  the  darkness 
without,  he  stood  still. 

When  he  turned  around,  Sister  Eulalie,  her  eyes 
dry  now,  was  still  standing  near  the  bed,  her  head 
hanging. 

He  stepped  forward,  gathered  up  the  letters 
quickly,  and  threw  them  pell-mell  back  into  the 
drawer;  then  he  closed  the  curtains  of  the  bed. 

When  daylight  made  the  candles  on  the  table 
turn  pale,  the  son  left  his  armchair,  and  without 
looking  again  at  the  mother  upon  whom  he  had 
passed  sentence,  severing  the  tie  that  united  her 
to  son  and  daughter,  he  said  slowly:  "Let  us  now 
retire,  sister." 


CEMETERY  SIRENS 

FIVE  friends,  middle-aged  men  of  the  world, 
had  finished  dinner;  all  were  rich,  three  of 
them  were  married,  the  other  two  bachelors. 
They  met  thus  every  month,  in  memory  of  their 
youth,  and,  after  dinner,  they  chatted  away  until 
early   morning.     Friends   since   early  youth,   they 
enjoyed   being  together,   and  perhaps  these  were 
the  pleasantest  evenings  of  their  lives. 

One  of  the  gayest  was  Joseph  de  Bardon,  a 
bachelor  who  lived  and  enjoyed  Parisian  life  to 
its  fullest.  He  was  neither  a  reveler  nor  a  degen- 
erate, but  he  was  curious  and  still  enjoyed  the 
vigor  of  youth,  for  he  had  not  yet  reached  two- 
score  years.  A  man  of  the  world  in  the  broadest 
and  best  sense  of  the  word,  endowed  with  great  wit 
without  much  depth,  possessing  a  varied  knowledge 
without  serious  insight,  he  drew  from  his  observa- 
tions, from  his  adventures,  from  everything  he 
saw,  met,  and  found,  comic  and  philosophic  anec- 
dotes and  witty  remarks  which  gave  him  through- 
out the  town  a  reputation  for  unusual  intelligence. 
He  was  the  orator  of  the  evening.  At  every 
meeting  he  had  his  story,  on  which  the  others 

Vol.  1—9  121 


122  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

counted.     He  began  to  tell  it  without  even  being 
asked. 

Smoking,  his  elbows  resting  on  the  table,  half 
a  glass  of  brandy  setting  before  his  plate,  in  the 
smoky  atmosphere  filled  with  the  aroma  of  coffee, 
he  seemed  completely  at  ease,  as  some  beings  seem 
absolutely  at  home  in  certain  places  and  at  certain 
times,  as,  for  instance,  a  nun  in  a  chapel,  or  a  gold- 
fish in  a  bowl  of  water. 

Slowly  exhaling  the  fragrant  smoke  of  his  after- 
dinner  cigar,  he  said : 

"A  rather  peculiar  adventure  happened  to  me 
a  short  time  ago." 

In  one  voice,  they  all  exclaimed:  "Tell  us 
about  it." 

"With  pleasure.  You  know  that  I  have  a  habit 
of  walking  around  Paris,  like  book  collectors  in 
search  of  rare  editions.  I  take  notice  of  what  oc- 
curs, of  the  people,  of  all  who  pass,  and  of  every- 
thing that  happens. 

"Well,  one  afternoon,  toward  the  middle  of 
September,  when  the  weather  was  at  its  best,  I  left 
home,  without  caring  in  which  direction  I  went. 
We  often  feel  a  vague  desire  to  call  on  some 
pretty  woman.  We  run  over  our  mental  index  of 
acquaintances,  weigh  the  interest  and  charm  with 
which  they  inspire  us,  and  decide  according  to  the 
favorite  of  the  day.  But  when  the  sun  is  beauti- 
ful and  the  air  is  warm,  we  often  lose  all  desire 
for  visits. 


CEMETERY  SIRENS  123 

"The  sun  was  bright  and  the  air  was  warm; 
I  lighted  a  cigar  and  strolled  aimlessly  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Outer  Boulevard.  As  I  walked  along,  the 
idea  came  to  me  to  go  to  the  Montmartre  Cemetery. 

"I  like  cemeteries;  they  rest  me  and  make  me 
sad.  And  then,  there  are  so  many  good  friends 
there,  whom  we  shall  never  see  again;  I  go  there 
from  time  to  time. 

"It  happens  that  in  this  Montmartre  Cemetery 
I  have  a  sweetheart,  a  charming  little  woman  whom 
I  really  loved  and  the  memory  of  whom  makes 
me  sad  and  gives  me  regrets — regrets  of  every 
kind.  I  go  and  dream  over  her  last  resting-place 
— all  is  over  for  her. 

"Again,  I  like  cemeteries  because  they  are  enor- 
mous cities  with  a  great  population.  Only  think 
of  the  number  of  bodies  that  lie  in  this  little  en- 
closure, of  the  generations  of  Parisians  who  will 
stay  there  forever,  closed  up  in  their  little  vaults, 
or  buried  under  the  earth  with  a  stone  placed  at 
their  heads  to  identify  their  last  home,  while  the 
living  ones  take  up  so  much  room  and  make  so 
much  noise. 

"In  the  cemeteries,  too,  there  are  monuments 
almost  as  interesting  as  those  to  be  found  in  muse- 
ums. Although  it  cannot  be  compared  to  it,  the 
tomb  of  Cavaignac  reminded  me,  I  must  admit, 
of  that  masterpiece  of  Jean  Goujon:  the  body  of 
Louis  de  Breze,  in  the  underground  chapel  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Rouen ;  all  so  called  modern  and  real- 


124  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

istic  art  has  come  from  there,  gentlemen.  The  dead 
Louis  de  Breze  is  more  real,  more  terrible,  more 
convulsed  by  agony  than  all  the  statuary  put  on 
modern  tombs. 

"But  in  the  cemetery  of  Montmartre  one  can 
still  admire  the  monument  of  Baudin,  which  has  a 
certain  amount  of  grandeur,  that  of  Gautier,  that 
of  Miirger,  where,  the  other  day,  I  saw  one  soli- 
tary wreath,  put  there  by  whom?  By  his  last 
sweetheart,  now  old  and  perhaps  a  janitress  in 
the  neighborhood?  It  is  a  pretty  little  statue  by 
Millet,  but  neglect  and  dirt  are  spoiling  it.  Sing 
of  Youth,  oh,  Miirger ! 

"I  entered  the  cemetery  of  Montmartre,  and  was 
overcome  by  a  grief  which  was  not  very  disagree- 
able, the  kind  which,  when  you  feel  well,  makes 
you  think :  'This  place  is  none  too  gay,  but,  thank 
heaven,  my  time  has  not  yet  come!' 

"The  impression  of  autumn,  of  that  moist 
warmth,  which  smells  of  dead  leaves,  and  the 
weak,  tired,  lifeless  sun  enhanced  the  poetry  of  the 
sensation  of  solitude  which  hangs  over  this  last 
resting-place  of  man. 

"I  sauntered  slowly  through  these  streets  of 
tombs,  where  neighbors  do  not  gossip,  do  not  quar- 
rel, and  do  not  read  the  papers.  I  began  to  read 
the  epitaphs.  Really,  that's  the  most  amusing  thing 
in  the  world.  Never  could  Labiche  or  Meilhac 
make  me  laugh  as  does  the  comical  prose  on  the 
tombstones.  For  random  reading,  those  marble 


CEMETERY  SIRENS  125 

slabs  and  those  crosses,  where  relatives  of  the  dead 
have  poured  out  their  grief,  their  wishes  for  the 
future  happiness  of  the  deceased  and  their  hopes 
to  join  them,  are  superior  to  anything  by  De  Kock. 

"But  the  spot  I  love  in  this  cemetery  is  the  aban- 
doned section,  solitary,  full  of  large  yew  and  cypress 
trees,  the  old  quarter  of  ancient  dead  which  will 
soon  become  a  new  quarter,  whose  great  green  trees, 
nourished  by  human  bodies,  will  be  cut  down  in 
order  to  lay  out  new  corpses  under  little  marble 
slabs. 

"After  I  had  wandered  around  there  for  a  while, 
I  felt  that  it  was  dull  and  that  I  would  have  to 
bring  to  the  last  resting-place  of  my  little  friend 
my  sincere  tribute  to  her  memory.  On  arriving 
near  her,  I  felt  quite  sad.  Poor  darling,  she  was 
so  gentle,  so  loving,  so  white  and  fresh — and  now — 
if  that  place  were  to  be  opened 

"Bending  over  the  iron  railing,  I  whispered  my 
regrets  to  her,  which  she  doubtless  did  not  hear, 
and  I  was  about  to  leave  when  I  saw  a  woman 
dressed  in  deep  mourning,  kneeling  at  the  neighbor- 
ing plot.  Her  crape  veil  had  been  lifted  and  showed 
a  pretty  blond  head,  whose  golden  tresses  under  the 
dark  headgear  seemed  tinged  with  the  first  light  of 
dawn.  I  stood  there. 

"Suddenly  she  seemed  to  be  suffering  from  a 
deep  grief.  She  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and,  as  rigid  as  a  statue,  lost  in  her  regrets,  telling 
over  her  rosary,  she  seemed  herself  a  dead  woman 


126  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

thinking  of  the  deceased.  Then  I  guessed  that  she 
was  about  to  weep — I  guessed  it  by  a  little  move- 
ment of  her  back  like  a  shiver.  At  first  she  wept 
silently,  then  stronger  and  stronger,  with  a  quick 
twitching  of  neck  and  shoulders.  Suddenly  she 
uncovered  her  eyes.  They  were  full  of  tears  and 
charming,  wild  eyes  which  looked  around  as  if 
awakening  from  a  nightmare.  She  saw  me  looking 
at  her,  seemed  ashamed,  and  once  more  hid  hei 
face  in  her  hands.  Then  her  sobs  became  convul- 
sive, and  her  head  slowly  drooped  toward  the  mar- 
ble. She  leaned  her  forehead  against  it,  and  the 
folds  of  her  veil,  spreading  around  her,  covered 
the  white  angles  of  the  beloved  monument  like  a 
new  wreath  of  mourning.  I  heard  her  moan,  then 
she  sank  down,  her  cheek  against  the  slab,  and  re- 
mained motionless,  unconscious. 

"Instinctively  I  started  toward  her,  I  slapped 
the  palms  of  her  hands,  blew  on  her  eyes,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  read  this  simple  epitaph :  'Here  lies 
Louis  Theodore  Carrel,  captain  of  marines,  killed 
by  the  ensmy  in  Tonkin.  Pray  for  him.' 

"This  death  was  only  a  few  months  old.  I  was 
moved  to  tears,  and  I  redoubled  my  attentions. 
They  were  successful;  she  regained  consciousness. 
I  seemed  very  sad.  I  understood  from  her  first  look 
that  she  would  be  polite  and  grateful.  She  was; 
and  with  more  tears,  her  story  c  ime  out  ;>y  frag- 
ments: the  death  of  the  officer  in  Tonkin  at  the 
end  of  a  year  of  married  life,  after  a  love  match, 


CEMETERY  SiTRENS  127 

for,   having  neither   father  nor   mother,   she  had 
only  the  regulation  dowry. 

"I  consoled  and  comforted  her,  \nd  raised  her  to 
her  feet.  Then  I  said : 

"  'Do  not  stay  here.    Come.' 

"She  murmured: 

"  'I  feel  unable  to  walk.' 

"  'I  will  support  you.' 

•     "  'Thank  you,  sir,  you  are  very  kind.    Were  you 
also  mourning  for  a  deceased  one?' 

"  'Yes,  Madame/ 

"  'A  woman?' 

"  'Yes,  Madame.' 

"  'Your  wife?' 

"  'A  friend.' 

"  'One  can  love  a  friend  as  much  as  a  wife.  .Vas- 
sion  knows  no  law.' 

"  'Yes,  Madame.' 

"She  took  my  arm,  and  we  set  off  together.  I 
almost  carried  her  through  the  paths  of  the  ceme- 
tery. When  we  were  outside,  she  murmured  in  a 
weak  voice: 

"  'I  am  feeling  very  faint.' 

"  'Would  you  like  to  go  somewhere  and  take 
something?' 

"  'Yes,  Monsieur.' 

"I  noticed  a  restaurant,  one  of  those  places 
where  the  friends  of  the  dead  go  to  recuperate 
from  their  exertions.  We  entered.  I  ordered  for 
her  a  cup  of  hot  tea,  which  seemed  to  revive  her. 
A  vague  smile  appeared  on  her  lips.  She  spoke  to 


128  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

me  of  herself.  It  was  so  sad,  so  lonely  being  all 
alone  at  home,  day  and  night,  having  no  one  to 
love  or  confide  in,  no  intimacy  with  anyone. 

"She  looked  sincere.  The  words  sounded  so 
sweet  from  her  lips.  I  grew  tender.  She  was  very 
young,  perhaps  twenty.  I  paid  her  some  compli- 
ments, which  she  accepted  very  well.  Then,  as  time 
was  passing,  I  offered  to  take  her  home  in  a  car- 
riage. She  accepted ;  and  in  the  carriage  we  sat  so 
close  to  each  other,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  that  the 
warmth  of  our  bodies  mingled  through  our  clothes, 
which  is  one  of  the  most  distracting  things  in  the 
world. 

"When  the  carriage  had  stopped  at  her  house, 
she  murmured:  'I  really  feel  unable  to  go  up- 
stairs alone,  for  I  live  on  the  fourth  floor.  You 
have  already  been  so  kind,  would  you  mind  giving 
me  your  arm  up  to  my  apartment?' 

"I  hastened  to  comply.  She  went  up  slowly, 
breathing  with  difficulty.  Then,  at  her  door,  she 
added : 

"  'Wouldn't  you  like  to  step  inside  for  a  minute, 
in  order  that  I  may  thank  you?' 

"Of  course  I  accepted  this  invitation. 

"The  apartment  was  very  modest,  even  a  little 
poor,  but  simply  and  tastefully  arranged. 

"We  sat  down  side  by  side  on  a  little  sofa,  and 
once  more  she  spoke  to  me  of  her  loneliness. 

"She  rang  for  the  servant,  in  order  to  offer  me 
something  to  drink.  The  girl  did  not  come.  I  was 


CEMETERY  SIRENS  129 

delighted,  hoping  that  this  maid  might  be  one  of 
those  women  who  only  come  in  the  morning  to 
clear  up  and  then  depart. 

"She  had  taken  off  her  hat.  She  was  really 
charming  with  her  bright  eyes  fastened  on  me,  so 
charming  that  I  had  a  terrible  temptation,  and  I 
yielded  to  it.  I  seized  her  in  my  arms,  and  on  her 
eyes,  which  suddenly  closed,  I  rained  kisses — 
kisses — kisses. 

"  She  resisted,  pushing  me  away,  repeating : 

"  'Stop — stop — end  it !' 

"What  could  she  mean  by  this  word?  In  such 
c^ses  'end'  may  have  at  least  two  meanings.  In 
crder  to  quiet  her,  I  passed  from  her  eyes  to  her 
lips,  and  I  imparted  to  the  word  'end'  the  meaning 
i  preferred.  She  did  not  resist  too  much,  and 
when  we  once  more  looked  at  each  other,  after  this 
outrage  to  the  memory  of  the  captain  killed  in 
Tonkin,  she  had  a  languishing,  tender,  resigned  look 
which  dispelled  all  my  fears. 

"Then  I  was  gallant,  eager,  and  grateful.  After 
another  conversation,  which  lasted  about  an  hour, 
I  asked: 

"  'Where  do  you  dine?' 

"  'In  a  little  restaurant  in  the  neighborhood.' 

"'All  alone?' 

"  'Yes,  of  course.' 

"  'Will  you  dine  with  me?' 

"  'Where?' 

"  'In  a  good  restaurant  on  the  Boulevard.' 


130  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"She  resisted  a  little.  I  insisted.  She  gave  in, 
calming  herself  with  the  following  argument:  ;I 
am  so  terribly,  terribly  lonely;'  then  she  added: 
'But  I  must  put  on  a  less  gloomy  dress.' 

"She  went  into  her  bedroom. 

"When  she  came  out  again,  she  was  wearing  a 
delightful  gray,  a  second-mourning  costume,  neat 
and  simple.  She  evidently  had  cemetery  gowns  and 
street  gowns. 

"The  dinner  was  very  pleasant.  She  drank 
champagne,  grew  bright  and  lively,  and  I  went  home 
with  her. 

"This  friendship  begun  on  the  graves,  lasted 
about  three  weeks.  But  one  tires  of  everything  and 
especially  of  women.  I  left  her  on  the  pretext  of 
an  indispensable  journey.  I  was  very  generous  at 
my  departure,  and  she  thanked  me  warmly.  She 
made  me  promise,  swear,  to  come  back  after  my 
return,  for  she  seemed  really  to  care  for  me. 

"I  went  in  search  of  new  love,  and  about  a 
month  went  by  without  my  feeling  any  desire  to 
visit  this  little  cemetery  sweetheart.  However,  I 
did  not  forget  her.  Her  memory  haunted  me  like 
a  mystery,  like  a  psychological  problem,  like  one 
of  those  inexplicable  questions  the  solution  of  which 
worries  us. 

"I  don't  know  why,  but  one  day  I  imagined  that 
I  might  see  her  in  the  Montmartre  Cemetery,  and 
I  went  there. 

"For  a  long  time  I  walked  around  without  meet- 


CEMETERY  SIRENS  131 

ing  any  others  than  the  ordinary  visitors,  those 
who  have  not  yet  severed  all  bonds  with  their  dead. 

"But  as  I  wandered  away  in  another  section  of 
this  great  city  of  the  dead,  I  noticed  suddenly, 
at  the  end  of  a  narrow  walk,  a  couple  in  deep 
mourning  approaching  in  my  direction.  Oh,  aston- 
ishment !  When  they  had  come  up  to  me,  I  recog- 
nized the  woman.  It  was  she ! 

"She  saw  me,  blushed,  and,  as  I  passed  beside 
her,  she  gave  me  an  imperceptible  wink  which 
seemed  to  mean :  'Do  not  recognize  me/  but  which 
also  meant:  'Come  back  to  see  me,  darling.' 

"The  man  was  distinguished-looking,  an  officer 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  about  fifty  years  of  age. 

"He  was  supporting  her  as  I  myself  had  done, 
under  similar  conditions. 

"I  left,  bewildered,  wondering  at  what  I  had 
seen.  To  what  race  might  this  sepulchral  huntress 
belong?  Was  she  an  ordinary  common  girl  who 
went  to  pluck  from  the  graves  sad  men,  haunted  by 
the  memories  of  their  wives  or  sweethearts,  and 
still  agitated  by  the  remembrance  of  vanished 
caresses  ?  Was  she  alone  ?  Are  there  many  like  her  ? 
Is  it  a  profession?  Do  they  walk  the  cemetery 
the  same  as  they  do  the  streets  ?  Cemetery  sirens ! 
Or  had  she  alone  had  this  admirable  idea,  from  a 
deep  philosophy,  of  taking  advantage  of  the  regrets 
of  love  which  these  funereal  places  inspire? 

"I  would  have  given  much  to  know  whose  widow 
she  was  that  day !" 


THE  DYING  PEASANT 

THE  glowing  sun  of  autumn  was  pouring  h.9 
rays  down  on  the  farmyard.  Under  the  grass, 
which  had  been  cropped  close  by  the  cows, 
the  earth,  soaked  by  recent  rain,  was  soft,  and  sank 
under  the  feet  with  a  soggy  sound,  and  the  trees, 
laden  with  fruit,  were  dropping  pale  green  apples 
in  the  dark  green  grass. 

Four  young  heifers,  tethered  in  a  row,  were  graz- 
ing, and  at  times  looking  toward  the  house  and 
lowing.  The  fowls  made  a  spot  of  color  on  the 
dung-heap  before  the  stable,  scratching,  moving 
around,  and  cackling,  while  two  cocks  crowed  con- 
tinually, digging  worms  for  their  hens,  which  they 
called  with  a  loud  clucking. 

The  wooden  gate  opened  and  a  man  entered.  He 
might  have  been  forty  years  old,  but  he  looked  at 
least  sixty,  wrinkled,  bent,  walking  slowly,  im- 
peded by  the  weight  of  heavy  wooden  shoes,  full 
of  straw.  His  long  arms  hung  limply  from  his 
body.  When  he  was  near  the  farm,  a  little  yellow 
pug  dog,  tied  to  the  foot  of  an  enormous  pear-tree, 

132 


THE  DYING  PEASANT  133 

beside  a  barrel  which  served  as  his  kennel,  began 
to  wag  his  tail  and  bark  for  joy.  The  man  cried: 

"Down,  Finot!" 

The  dog  was  quiet. 

A  i  :asant  woman  came  out  of  the  house.  Her 
large,  flat,  bony  body  was  outlined  under  a  long 
jacket  whicl  was  tied  in  at  the  waist.  A  gray 
skirt,  too  short,  fell  to  the  middle  of  her  calves, 
which  were  covered  with  blue  stockings.  She,  too, 
wore  wooden  shoes,  full  of  straw.  The  white  cap, 
turned  yellow,  covered  a  few  hairs  plastered  to  the 
scalp,  and  her  brown,  thin,  ugly,  toothless  face 
had  that  brutal  and  savage  expression  often  found 
on  the  faces  of  peasants. 

"How  is  he  getting  along?"  inquired  the  man. 

"The  priest  said  it's  the  end — that  he  will  not 
live  through  the  night." 

Both  entered  the  house. 

After  passing  through  the  kitchen,  they  went 
into  a  low,  dark  room,  barely  lighted  by  one  win- 
dow, in  front  of  which  a  rag  was  hanging.  The 
heavy  beams,  turned  brown  with  time  and  smoke, 
crossed  the  room  from  one  side  to  the  other,  sup- 
porting the  thin  floor  of  the  garret  where  an  army 
of  rats  raced  about  day  and  night. 

The  damp,  lumpy,  earth  floor  looked  greasy,  and, 
at  the  back  of  the  room,  the  bed  made  an  indistinct 
white  spot.  A  harsh,  regular  noise,  a  difficult, 
hoarse,  wheezing  breathing,  like  the  gurgling  of 
water  from  a  broken  pump,  came  from  the  dark- 


134  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ened  bed  where  an  old  man,  the  father  of  the 
woman,  lay  dying. 

The  man  and  the  woman  approached  the  dying 
man  and  looked  at  him  with  calm,  resigned  eyes. 

The  son-in-law  said : 

"I  think  it's  all  over  with  him  this  time;  he  will 
not  live  through  the  night." 

The  woman  answered : 

"He's  been  breathing  like  that  ever  since  mid- 
day." 

They  kept  silent.  The  father's  eyes  were  closed, 
his  face  was  the  color  of  the  earth,  and  so  dry  that 
it  looked  like  wood.  Through  his  open  mouth 
came  his  harsh,  rattling  breath ;  and  the  gray  canvas 
sheet  rose  and  fell  with  each  respiration. 

The  son-in-law,  after  a  long  silence,  said : 

"There's  nothing  more  to  do;  I  can't  help  him. 
It's  a  bother,  too,  because  the  weather  is  good  and 
we  have  much  work  to  do." 

His  wife  seemed  annoyed  at  this.  She  thought 
for  a  short  time,  and  then  declared : 

"He  won't  be  buried  till  Saturday,  and  that  will 
give  you  all  day  to-morrow." 

The  peasant  thought  the  matter  over  and  an- 
swered : 

"Yes,  but  to-morrow  I  must  invite  the  people  to 
the  funeral.  That  means  five  or  six  hours  to  go 
to  Tourville  and  Manetot,  and  to  see  everybody." 

After  meditating,  the  woman  declared : 

"It   isn't  three  o'clock  yet;  you  could  go  out 


THE  DYING  PEASANT  135 

toward  Tourville  and  begin.  You  can  just  as  well 
say  that  he's  dead,  seeing  as  he  is  almost  gone 
now." 

The  man  stood  perplexed  for  a  while,  weighing 
the  pros  and  cons  of  the  idea.  At  last  he  declared : 

"I  will  do  that." 

"He  set  off,  but  came  back  after  a  minute's  hesi- 
tation : 

"As  you  haven't  anything  to  do,  you  might  cut 
up  some  apples,  and  make  four  dozen  dumplings 
to  entertain  those  who  come  to  the  funeral.  You 
can  light  the  fire  with  the  wood  that's  under  the 
shed.  It's  dry." 

He  left  the  room,  returned  to  the  kitchen,  opened 
the  cupboard,  took  out  a  six-pound  loaf  of  bread, 
cut  off  a  slice,  and  carefully  gathered  the  crumbs 
in  the  palm  of  his  hand  and  threw  them  into  his 
mouth,  so  as  not  to  lose  anything.  Then,  with  the 
end  of  his  knife,  he  scraped  out  a  little  salt  butter 
from  the  bottom  of  an  earthen  jar,  spread  it  on  his 
bread  and  began  to  eat  slowly,  as  he  did  everything. 

He  recrossed  the  farmyard,  quieted  the  dog, 
which  had  begun  to  bark  again,  went  out  on  the 
road  bordered  by  a  ditch,  and  disappeared  in  the 
direction  of  Tourville. 

As  soon  as  she  was  alone,  the  woman  began  to 
work.  She  got  the  meal-trough,  and  prepared  the 
dough  for  the  dumplings.  She  kneaded  it  for  a 
long  time,  turning  it  over  and  over  again,  punch- 
ing, pressing,  crushing  it.  Finally  she  made  a  big, 


136  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

round,  yellow-white  ball,  which  she  placed  on  the 
corner  of  the  table. 

Then  she  went  to  get  her  apples,  and,  in  order 
not  to  injure  the  tree  with  a  pole,  she  climbed  up 
by  means  of  a  ladder.  She  chose  the  fruit  care- 
fully, taking  only  the  ripe  apples,  and  gathering 
them  in  her  apron. 

A  voice  called  from  the  road : 

"Hey!    Madame  Chicot!" 

She  turned  around.  It  was  a  neighbor,  Osime 
Faver,  the  mayor,  who  was  on  his  way  to  fertilize 
his  fields,  seated  on  the  dung-wagon,  with  his  feet 
hanging  over  the  side.  She  turned  around  and 
answered : 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Maitre  Osime?" 

"How  is  the  father?" 

"He  is  as  good  as  dead,"  she  cried.  "The  funeral 
is  Saturday  at  seven,  because  there  is  so  much  work 
to  be  done." 

"So!  Good  luck,  to  you!  Take  care  of  your- 
self," the  neighbor  answered. 

To  his  kind  remarks  she  answered:  "Thanks; 
the  same  to  you." 

And  she  continued  picking  her  apples. 

When  she  returned  to  the  house,  she  went  to 
look  at  her  father,  expecting  to  find  him  dead.  But 
as  soon  as  she  reached  the  door  she  heard  the  mono- 
tonous, noisy  rattle,  and,  thinking  it  needless  to  go 
to  him,  not  to  lose  any  time  she  began  to  prepare  her 
dumplings.  She  wrapped  up  the  apples,  one  by 


THE  DYING  PEASANT  137 

one,  in  a  thin  layer  of  paste,  then  she  laid  them  in 
a  row  on  the  edge  of  the  table.  When  she  had 
made  forty-eight  balls,  arranged  by  dozens,  one  in 
front  of  another,  she  began  to  think  of  preparing 
supper,  and  she  hung  her  kettle  over  the  fire  to  cook 
potatoes;  for  she  judged  it  useless  to  heat  the  oven 
that  day;  as  she  had  all  the  next  day  in  which  to 
finish  her  preparations. 

Her  husband  returned  about  five  o'clock.  As  soon 
as  he  had  crossed  the  threshold,  he  asked : 

"Is  it  over?" 

"Not  yet;  he's  still  gurgling,"  she  answered. 

They  went  to  look  at  him.  The  old  man  was  in 
exactly  the  same  condition.  His  harsh  breathing, 
as  regular  as  the  ticking  of  the  clock;  was  neither 
quicker  nor  slower.  It  returned  every  second,  the 
key  varying  a  little,  as  the  air  entered  or  left  his 
lungs. 

His  son-in-law  looked  at  him  and  said: 

"He'll  pass  away  without  our  noticing  it,  like  a 
candle  going  out." 

They  returned  to  the  kitchen  and  began  to  eat, 
without  saying  a  word.  When  they  had  swallowed 
their  soup,  they  ate  more  bread  and  butter;  then, 
as  soon  as  the  dishes  were  washed,  they  returned 
to  the  dying  man. 

The  woman  carrying  a  little  lamp  with  a  smoky 
wick,  held  it  in  front  of  her  father's  face.  If  he 
had  not  been  breathing,  one  woul<'  certainly  have 
thought  him  dead. 

Vol.  1—10 


138  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

The  bed  of  the  married  pair  was  hidden  in  a  little 
recess  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Silent,  they 
went  to  bed,  put  out  the  light,  closed  their  eyes; 
and  soon  two  unequal  snores,  one  deep  and  the 
other  shriller,  accompanied  the  uninterrupted  rattle 
of  the  dying  man. 

The  rats  ran  wildly  about  the  garret. 

The  husband  awoke  at  the  first  streaks  of  dawn. 
His  father-in-law  was  still  alive.  He  shook  his 
wife,  worried  by  the  tenacity  of  the  old  man. 

"Phemie,  he  doesn't  mean  to  die.  What  would 
you  do?" 

He  knew  that  she  gave  good  advice. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,"  she  answered;  "he 
can't  live  through  the  day.  And  the  mayor  won't 
stop  our  burying  him  tomorrow,  because  he  allowed 
it  for  Maitre  Remard's  father,  who  died  just  during 
the  plowing  season." 

He  was  convinced  by  this  argument,  and  departed 
for  the  fields. 

His  wife  baked  the  dumplings,  and  then  attended 
to  her  housework. 

At  noon  the  old  man  was  not  yet  dead.  The 
people  hired  for  the  day's  work  came  by  groups  to 
look  at  him.  Each  one  had  his  say,  then  they  left 
again  for  the  fields. 

At  six  o'clock,  when  work  was  over,  the  father 
was  still  breathing.  At  last  his  son-in-law  was 
frightened. 

"What  would  you  do  now,  Phemie?" 


THE  DYING  PEASANT  139 

She  no  longer  knew  how  to  solve  the  problem. 
They  went  to  the  mayor.  He  promised  that  he 
would  close  his  eyes,  and  authorize  the  funeral  for 
the  following  day.  They  also  went  to  the  health 
officer,  who  likewise  promised,  in  order  to  oblige 
Maitre  Chicot,  to  antedate  the  death  certificate.  The 
man  and  the  woman  returned,  feeling  more  at  ease. 

They  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep,  as  they  did  the 
night  before,  their  healthy  breathing  mingling  with 
the  feeble  breath  of  the  old  man. 

When  they  awoke,  he  was  not  yet  dead. 

Then  they  were  really  alarmed.  They  stood  by 
their  father,  watching  him  with  distrust,  as  if  he 
wished  to  play  them  a  mean  trick,  to  deceive  them,, 
to  annoy  them  on  purpose,  and  they  were  vexed 
at  him  for  the  time  which  he  was  making  them  lose. 

"What  am  I  going  to  do?"  the  son-in-law  asked. 

She  did  not  know,  so  she  answered:  "It  certainly 
is  vexing!" 

The  guests  who  were  expected  could  not  be 
warned  away.  They  decided  to  wait,  and  explain 
the  case  to  them. 

Toward  a  quarter  before  seven,  the  first  persons 
arrived.  The  women  in  black,  their  heads  covered 
with  large  veils,  looked  very  sad.  The  men,  ill  at 
ease  in  their  homespun  coats,  came  forward  more 
slowly,  in  couples,  talking  business. 

Maitie  Chicot  and  his  wife,  bewildered,  received 
them  in  despair;  and  suddenly,  both  began  to  cry 
as  they  approached  the  first  group.  They  explained 


140  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

the  matter,  related  their  difficulty,  offered  chairs, 
bustled  around,  tried  to  make  excuses,  attempting 
to  prove  that  everybody  would  have  done  as  they 
had,  talking  continually  and  giving  nobody  a  chance 
to  answer. 

They  went  from  one  person  to  another  saying:  "I 
never  would  have  thought  it ;  it's  incredible  how  he 
can  last  this  long!" 

The  guests,  taken  aback,  a  little  disappointed,  as 
if  they  had  missed  an  expected  entertainment,  did 
not  know  what  to  do,  some  remaining  seated,  others 
standing.  Several  wished  to  leave.  Maitre  Chicot 
held  them  back : 

"You  must  eat  something,  anyhow!  We  made 
some  dumplings  and  we  might  as  well  make  use  of 
them." 

The  faces  brightened  at  this  idea.  The  yard  was 
filling  little  by  little;  the  early  arrivals  were  telling 
the  news  to  those  who  had  arrived  later.  Every- 
body was  whispering.  The  idea  of  the  dumplings 
seemed  to  cheer  everyone. 

The  women  went  in  to  take  a  look  at  the  dying 
man.  They  crossed  themselves  near  the  bed,  mut- 
tered a  prayer  and  came  out  again.  The  men,  less 
anxious  for  this  spectacle,  cast  a  look  through  the 
window,  which  had  been  left  open. 

Madame  Chicot  explained  her  distress : 

"That's  how  he's  been  for  two  days,  neither  bet- 
ter nor  worse.  Doesn't  he  sound  like  a  pump  with- 
out any  water?" 


THE  DYING  PEASANT  141 

When  everybody  had  had  a  look  at  the  dying 
man,  they  thought  of  the  refreshments ;  but  as  there 
were  too  many  people  for  the  kitchen  to  hold,  the 
table  was  moved  out  in  front  of  the  door.  The 
four  dozen  golden  dumplings,  tempting  and  appetiz- 
ing, arranged  in  two  large  dishes,  attracted  all  eyes. 
Each  person  reached  out  to  take  one,  fearing  there 
would  not  be  enough.  But  four  were  left. 

Maitre  Chicot,  with  full  mouth,  said : 

"Father  would  feel  sad  if  he  were  to  see  these. 
He  loved  dumplings  so  much  when  he  was  alive." 

A  big,  jovial  peasant  declared : 

"He  won't  eat  any  more  now.  Each  one  in  his 
turn." 

This  remark,  instead  of  making  the  guests  sad, 
seemed  to  enliven  them.  It  was  their  turn  at  pres- 
ent to  eat  dumplings. 

Madame  Chicot,  distressed  at  the  expense,  kept 
running  down  to  the  cellar,  all  the  time,  after  cider. 
The  pitchers  followed  one  another  in  quick  suc- 
cession. The  company  was  laughing  and  talking 
loud  now ;  they  were  beginning  to  shout  as  they  do 
during  meals. 

Suddenly  an  old  peasant  woman  who  had  stayed 
near  the  dying  man,  held  there  by  a  morbid  fear  of 
that  which  would  soon  happen  to  her,  appeared  at 
the  window  and  cried  in  a  shrill  voice: 

"He's  dead!  he's  dead!" 

Everybody  was  silent.  The  women  arose  quickly 
to  see. 


142  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

He  was  indeed  dead.  The  rattle  had  ceased. 
The  men  looked  at  each  other,  ill  at  ease.  They 
hadn't  finished  eating  the  dumplings.  Certainly  the 
rascal  had  not  chosen  a  propitious  moment. 

The  Chicots  were  no  longer  weeping.  It  was 
over ;  they  were  relieved.  They  kept  repeating : 

"I  knew  it  couldn't  last.  If  he  could  only  have 
done  it  last  night,  it  would  have  saved  us  all  this 
trouble." 

But  it  was  all  over.  They  would  bury  him  on 
Monday,  that  was  all,  and  they  would  eat  some 
more  dumplings  for  the  occasion. 

The  guests  went  away,  talking  the  matter  over, 
pleased  at  having  had  the  chance  to  see  everything 
and  getting  something  to  eat. 

And  when  the  man  and  the  woman  were  atone, 
face  to  face,  she  said,  her  face  contracted  with 
anguish : 

"We'll  have  to  bake  four  dozen  more  dump- 
lings! Why  couldn't  he  have  made  up  his  mind 
last  night?" 

The  husband,  more  resigned,  answered: 

"Well,  we  shall  not  have  to  do  this  every  day." 


A  MADMAN'S  JOURNAL 

HE  was  dead  —  the  head  of  a  high  tribunal,  the 
upright  magistrate,  whose  irreproachable  life 
was  a  proverb  in  all  the  courts  of  France. 
Advocates,  young  counsellors,  judges  had  saluted  at 
sight  of  his  large,  thin,  pale  face  and  sparkling 
deep-set  eyes,  bowing  low  in  token  of  respect. 

He  had  passed  his  life  in  pursuing  crime  and  in 
protecting  the  weak.  Swindlers  and  murderers  had 
no  more  redoubtable  enemy,  for  he  seemed  to  read 
their  most  secret  thoughts. 

He  was  dead,  now,  at  the  age  of  eighty-two,  hon- 
ored by  the  homage  and  followed  by  the  regrets 
of  a  whole  people.  Soldiers  in  red  trousers  had 
escorted  him  to  the  tomb,  and  men  in  white  cravats 
had  spoken  words  and  shed  tears  that  were  appar- 
ently sincere  beside  his  grave. 

But  here  is  the  strange  paper  found  by  this  dis- 
mayed notary  in  the  desk  where  he  had  kept  the 
records  of  ereat  criminals!  It  was  entitled: 


1-43 


144  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

June  20,  1851.  I  have  just  left  court.  I  have 
condemned  Blondel  to  death!  Why  did  this  man 
kill  his  five  children?  Frequently  one  meets  with 
people  to  whom  destruction  of  life  is  a  pleasure. 
Yes,  it  should  be  a  pleasure,  the  greatest  of  all, 
perhaps,  for  is  not  killing  the  next  thing  to  creat- 
ing? To  make  and  to  destroy!  These  words  con- 
tain the  history  of  the  universe,  all  the  history  of 
worlds,  all  that  is,  all!  Why  is  it  not  intoxicating 
to  kill? 

June  25.  To  think  that  a  being  is  there  who  lives, 
who  walks,  who  runs.  A  being?  What  is  a  being? 
The  animated  thing  that  bears  in  itself  the  princi- 
ple of  motion,  and  a  will  ruling  that  motion.  It  is 
attached  to  nothing,  this  thing.  Its  feet  do  not 
belong  to  the  ground.  It  is  a  grain  of  life  that 
moves  on  the  earth,  and  this  grain  of  life,  coming 
I  know  not  whence,  one  can  destroy  at  will.  Then 
• — nothing  more.  It  perishes,  it  is  finished. 

June  26.  Why,  then,  is  it  a  crime  to  kill?  Yes, 
why  ?  On  the  contrary,  it  is  the  law  of  nature.  The 
mission  of  every  being  is  to  kill;  he  kills  to  live, 
and  he  lives  to  kill.  The  beast  kills  without  ceas- 
ing, all  day,  every  instant  of  his  existence.  Man 
kills  without  Ceasing,  to  nourish  himself;  but  since 
he  needs  also  to  kill  for  pleasure,  he  has  invented 
hunting.  The  child  kills  the  insects  he  finds,  the 
little  birds,  all  the  little  animals  that  come  in  his 
way.  But  this  does  not  suffice  for  our  irresistible 
need  to  massacre.  It  is  not  enough  to  kill  beasts; 


A  MADMAN'S  JOURNAL  145 

we  must  kill  man,  too.  Long  ago  this  need  was 
satisfied  by  human  sacrifices.  Now  the  necessity 
of  social  life  has  made  murder  a  crime.  We  con- 
demn and  punish  the  assassin.  But,  as  we  cannot 
live  without  yielding  to  this  natural  and  imperious 
instinct,  we  relieve  ourselves,  from  time  to  time, 
by  wars.  Then  a  whole  nation  slaughters  another 
nation.  It  is  a  feast  of  blood,  a  feast  that  maddens 
armies,  and  intoxicates  civilians,  women  and  chil« 
dren,  who  read  by  lamplight,  the  feverish  stor5 
of  massacre. 

One  might  suppose  that  those  destined  to  accom- 
plish these  butcheries  of  men  would  be  despised! 
No,  they  are  loaded  with  honors.  They  are  clad  in 
gold  and  in  resplendent  garments ;  they  wear  plumes 
on  their  heads  and  ornaments  on  their  breasts ;  and 
to  them  are  given  crosses,  rewards,  titles  of  every 
kind.  They  are  proud,  respected,  loved  by  women, 
cheered  by  the  crowd,  solely  because  their  mission 
is  to  shed  human  blood!  They  drag  through  the 
streets  their  instruments  of  death,  and  the  passer-by 
clad  in  black,  looks  on  with  envy.  For  to  kill  is 
the  great  law  set  by  nature  in  the  heart  of  existence ! 
There  is  nothing  more  beautiful  and  honorable 
than  killing. 

June  jo.  To  kill  is  the  law,  because  nature 
loves  eternal  youth.  She  seems  to  cry  in  all  her 
unconscious  acts:  "Quick!  quick!  quick!"  The 
more  she  destroys,  the  more  she  renews  herself. 

July  2.    A  human  being — what  is  a  human  be- 


146  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ing?  Through  thought  it  is  a  reflection  of  all  that 
is;  through  memory  and  science  it  is  an  abridged 
edition  of  the  universe,  whose  history  it  represents ; 
each  human  being  becomes  a  microcosm  in  the 
macrocosm. 

July  j.  It  must  be  a  pleasure,  unique  and  full 
of  zest,  to  kill ;  to  have  there  before  one  the  living, 
thinking  being;  to  make  therein  a  little  hope,  noth- 
ing but  a  little  hole,  to  see  that  red  thing  flow  which 
is  the  blood,  which  makes  life;  and  to  have  before 
one  only  a  heap  of  limp  flesh,  cold,  inert,  void  of 
thought. 

Aug.  5.  I,  who  have  passed  my  life  in  judg- 
ing, condemning,  killing  by  the  spoken  word,  killing 
by  the  guillotine  those  who  had  killed  by  the  knife, 
I,  if  I  should  do  as  all  the  assassins  have  done, 
whom  I  have  smitten,  I — who  would  know  it? 

Aug.  10.  Who  would  ever  know?  Who  would 
ever  suspect  me,  me,  me,  especially  if  I  should 
choose  a  being  I  had  no  interest  in  doing  away 
with? 

Aug.  15.  The  temptation  has  come.  It  pervades 
my  whole  being;  my  hands  tremble  with  a  desire 
to  kill. 

Aug.  22.  I  could  resist  no  longer.  I  killed  a 
little  creature  as  an  experiment,  for  a  beginning. 
Jean,  my  servant,  had  a  goldfinch  in  a  cage  hung 
in  the  office  window.  I  sent  him  on  an  errand,  and 
I  took  the  little  bird  in  my  hand.  I  felt  its  heart 
beat.  It  was  warm.  I  went  up  to  my  room.  From 


A  MADMAN'S  JOURNAL  147 

time  to  time  I  squeezed  it  tighter;  its  heart  beat 
faster;  this  was  atrocious  and  delicious.  I  was 
near  choking  it.  But  I  could  not  see  the  blood. 

Then  I  took  scissors,  short  nail-scissors,  and  I 
cut  its  throat  with  three  slits,  quite  gently.  It  opened 
its  bill,  it  struggled  to  escape  me,  but  I  held  it, 
oh!  I  held  it — I  could  have  held  a  mad  dog — and 
I  saw  the  blood  trickle. 

And  then  I  did  as  assassins  do — real  ones.  I 
washed  the  scissors,  I  washed  my  hands,  I  sprinkled 
water,  and  took  the  body,  the  corpse,  to  the  garden 
to  hide  it.  I  buried  it  under  a  strawberry-plant. 
It  never  will  be  found.  Every  day  I  shall  eat  a 
strawberry  from  that  plant.  How  one  can  enjoy 
life,  when  one  knows  how ! 

My  servant  cried;  he  thought  his  bird  had  flown. 
How  could  he  suspect  me? 

Aug.  25.    I  must  kill  a  man !    I  must ! 

Aug.  jo.  It  is  done.  But  what  a  little  thing! 
I  had  gone  for  a  walk  in  the  forest  of  Vernes.  I 
was  thinking  of  nothing,  literally  nothing.  A  child 
was  in  the  road,  a  little  child  eating  a  slice  of  bread 
and  butter. 

He  stops  to  see  me  pass  and  says,  "Good-day, 
Monsieur  President." 

And  the  thought  enters  my  head:  "Shall  I  kill 
him?" 

I  answer:    "You  are  alone,  my  boy?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"All  alone  in  the  wood?" 


148  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  wish  to  kill  him  intoxicated  me  like  wine.  I 
approached  him  quite  softly,  persuaded  that  he  was 
going  to  run  away.  And,  suddenly,  I  seized  him 
by  the  throat.  He  looked  at  me  with  terror  in  his 
eyes — such  eyes!  He  held  my  wrists  in  his  little 
hands,  and  his  body  writhed  like  a  feather  over  the 
fire.  Then  he  moved  no  more.  I  threw  the  body  in 
the  ditch,  and  some  weeds  on  top  of  it.  I  returned 
home,  and  dined  well.  What  a  little  thing  it  was ! 
In  the  evening  I  was  very  gay,  light,  rejuvenated; 
I  passed  the  evening  at  the  Prefect's.  They  found 
me  witty.  But  I  have  not  seen  blood !  I  am  tran- 
quil. 

Aug.  31.  The  body  has  been  discovered.  They 
are  hunting  for  the  assassin. 

Sept.  i.  Two  tramps  have  been  arrested.  Proofs 
are  lacking. 

Sept.  2.  The  parents  have  been  to  see  me.  They 
wept!  Ah!  ah! 

Oct.  6.  Nothing  has  been  discovered.  Some 
strolling  vagabond  must  have  done  the  deed.  Ah! 
ah !  If  I  had  seen  the  blood  flow,  it  seems  to  me  I 
should  be  tranquil  now !  The  desire  to  kill  is  in  my 
blood ;  it  is  like  the  passion  of  youth  at  twenty. 

Oct.  20.  Yet  another.  I  was  walking  by  the 
river,  after  breakfast.  And  I  saw  under  a  willow 
a  fisherman  asleep.  It  was  noon.  A  spade  was 
standing  in  a  potato-field  near  by,  as  if  expressly 
for  me.  I  took  it.  I  returned;  I  raised  it  like  a 


A  MADMAN'S  JOURNAL  149 

club,  and  with  one  blow  of  the  edge  I  cleft  the 
fisherman's  head.  Oh!  he  bled,  this  one!  Rose- 
colored  blood.  It  flowed  into  the  water,  quite  gently. 
And  I  went  away  with  a  slow  step.  If  I  had  been 
seen !  Ah !  ah !  I  should  have  made  an  excellent 
assassin. 

Oct.  25.  The  affair  of  the  fisherman  makes  a 
great  stir.  His  nephew,  who  fished  with  him  is, 
charged  with  the  murder. 

Oct.  26.  The  examining  magistrate  affirms  that 
the  nephew  is  guilty.  Everybody  in  town  believes 
it.  Ah!  ah! 

Oct.  27.  The  nephew  makes  a  very  poor  wit- 
ness. He  had  gone  to  the  village  to  buy  bread 
and  cheese,  he  declared.  He  swore  that  his  uncle 
had  been  killed  in  his  absence.  Who  would  believe 
him? 

Oct.  28.  The  nephew  has  all  but  confessed,  they 
have  badgered  him  so.  Ah!  ah!  Justice! 

Nov.  75.  There  are  overwhelming  proofs  against 
the  nephew,  who  was  his  uncle's  heir.  I  shall  pre- 
side at  the  sessions. 

Jan.  25.  To  death!  to  death!  to  death!  I  have 
had  him  condemned  to  death !  Ah !  ah !  The  advo- 
cate-general spoke  like  an  angel !  Ah !  ah !  Yet  an- 
other !  I  shall  go  to  see  him  executed ! 

Mar.  10.  It  is  done.  They  guillotined  him  this 
morning.  He  died  very  well !  very  well !  That 
gave  me  pleasure!  How  fine  it  is  to  see  a  man's 
head  cut  off! 


150'  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Now,  I  shall  wait,  I  can  wait.  It  would  take  such 
a  little  thing  to  let  myself  be  caught. 

The  manuscript  contained  other  pages,  but  with- 
out relating  any  new  crime. 

Alienist  physicians  to  whom  the  awful  story  has 
been  submitted  declare  that  there  are  in  the  world 
many  undiscovered  madmen,  as  adroit  and  as  much 
to  be  feared  as  this  monstrous  lunatic. 


CHECKMATE! 

I  WAS  going  to  Turin  by  way  of  Corsica.     At 
Nice  I  took  the  boat  for  Bastia,  and  as  soon 
as  we  were  started  I  noticed  a  rather  pretty, 
modest-looking  young  woman  seated  on  the  deck. 
She  was  looking  into  the  distance  with  a  far-away 
expression. 

I  seated  myself  opposite  and  looked  at  her,  asking 
myself  the  questions  which  come  to  one's  mind  on 
seeing  an  unknown  woman  who  interests  him : 
What  was  her  condition,  her  age,  her  disposition? 
Then  through  what  you  see  you  guess  what  you 
do  not  know.  You  notice  the  length  of  the  waist 
when  she  is  seated,  you  try  to  discover  her  ankle, 
you  observe  the  quality  of  the  hand,  which  reveals 
the  refinement  of  all  one's  affections,  and  the  ear, 
which  indicates  origin  better  than  a  birth  certificate. 
You  try  to  hear  her  speak  in  order  to  understand 
the  nature  of  her  mind  and  the  tendencies  of  her 
heart  through  her  intonations.  For  the  quality  of 
the  voice  and  the  choice  of  words  unfold  to  an 
experienced  observer  the  whole  mysterious  texture 
of  the  soul. 

151 


152  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

I  was  therefore  attentively  observing  my  neigh- 
bor, looking  for  signs,  analyzing  gestures,  expecting 
a  revelation  every  minute. 

She  opened  a  little  bag  and  drew  out  a  news- 
paper. I  rubbed  my  hands:  "Tell  me  what  you 
read,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  you  think." 

She  began  to  read  with  a  look  of  pleasure.  The 
sheet  was  Echo  de  Paris.  I  was  perplexed.  She 
was  reading  an  article  by  Scholl.  Was  she  a 
Schollist  ?  She  began  to  smile.  Was  she  one  of  his 
opponents?  It  was  difficult  to  make  her  out. 

I  sat  down  beside  her  and  began  to  read,  with  no 
less  attention,  a  volume  of  poetry  that  I  had 
bought,  the  "Song  of  Love,"  by  Felix  Frank. 

I  noticed  that  she  took  in  the  title  with  a  rapid 
glance,  just  as  a  flying  bird  snatches  up  a  fly.  Sev- 
eral of  the  passengers  passed  by  in  order  to  look  at 
her.  But  she  seemed  only  to  be  thinking  of  her 
article.  W7hen  she  had  finished  it,  she  laid  the  paper 
down  between  us. 

Bowing,  I  said  to  her: 

"Madame,  may  I  glance  at  this  paper?" 

"Certainly,  Monsieur." 

"In  the  meanwhile,  allow  me  to  offer  you  this 
volume  of  verses." 

"Thank  you,  Monsieur;  is  it  amusing?" 

I  was  a  bit  disturbed  by  this  question.  One  does 
not  ask  of  a  volume  of  verse  whether  it  is  amusing. 

"It  is  better  than  that,  it  is  charming,  delicate 
and  very  artistic,"  I  answered. 


CHECKMATE!  153 

"Then  let  me  see  it." 

She  took  the  volume,  opened  it  and  began  to 
glance  through  it  with  a  little  surprised  air  which 
showed  that  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of  reading 
verse. 

At  times  she  seemed  moved,  at  other  times  she 
smiled,  but  with  a  smile  different  from  the  one  she 
had  when  reading  the  newspaper. 

Suddenly  I  asked  her:  "Does  it  please  you?" 

"Yes,  but  I  like  things  that  are  merry,  very 
merry.  I  am  not  at  all  sentimental." 

We  began  to  talk.  I  learned  that  she  was  the 
wife  of  a  captain  of  dragoons,  stationed  at  Ajaccio, 
and  that  she  was  going  to  join  her  husband  there. 

In  a  few  minutes  I  had  found  out  that  she  did 
not  love  him  any  too  much.  She  loved  him,  never- 
theless, but  reservedly,  as  one  loves  a  man  who  has 
not  lived  up  to  what  was  expected  before  marriage. 
He  had  trotted  her  from  garrison  to  garrison, 
through  many  sad  little  villages.  Now  he  was 
calling  her  to  this  dismal  island.  No,  life  was  not 
amusing  for  everybody.  She  would  even  have  pre- 
ferred remaining  with  her  parents  in  Lyons,  for 
there  she  knew  everybody.  But  now  she  had  to  go 
to  Corsica.  Really,  the  Secretary  of  War  was  not 
at  all  nice  to  her  husband. 

We  spoke  of  the  places  in  which  she  would  have 
preferred  to  live,  and  I  asked : 

"Do  you  like  Paris?" 

She  exclaimed: 

Vol.  i—n 


154  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Oh!  Monsieur,  do  I  love  Paris?  Is  it  possible 
to  ask  such  a  question?"  And  she  began  to  talk 
to  me  of  Paris  with  such  ardor,  such  enthusiasm, 
such  envy,  that  I  thought  to  myself:  "That's  the 
string  to  play  on." 

She  adored  Paris  from  a  distance  with  the  ex- 
asperated passion  of  a  woman  from  the  country, 
with  the  wild  impatience  of  a  captive  bird  that  is 
watching  a  forest  all  day  from  the  window  where 
his  cage  is  hung. 

She  began  to  question  me  hurriedly;  she  wished 
to  learn  everything  in  five  minutes.  She  knew  the 
names  of  all  the  well-known  people,  and  of  many 
others  of  whom  I  never  had  heard. 

"How  is  Gounod?  and  Sardou?  Oh!  Mon- 
sieur, I  do  so  love  Sardou's  plays!  They  are  so 
gay  and  witty!  Each  time  I  see  one  of  them  I 
dream  of  it  for  a  week!  I  also  read  one  of  Dau- 
det's  books,  which  pleased  me  so  much !  Sapho,  do 
you  know  it?  Is  Daudet  handsome?  Have  you 
seen  Daudet?  And  Zola,  what  kind  of  man  is  he? 
If  you  knew  how  Germinal  made  me  cry !  Do  you 
remember  where  the  little  child  dies  in  the  dark- 
ness? Isn't  it  terrible!  I  was  almost  sick  after 
reading  it !  I  also  read  a  book  by  Monsieur  Bour- 
get,  Cruelle  Enigme.  I  have  a  girl  cousin  who  went 
so  wild  about  that  novel  that  she  wrote  to  Bourget. 
I  found  that  book  too  poetic.  I  prefer  funny  things. 
Do  you  know  Monsieur  Grevin?  And  Monsieur 
Coquelin  ?  And  Monsieur  Damala  ?  And  Monsieur 


CHECKMATE!  155 

Rochefort?  They  say  he  is  so  witty!  .  And  Mon- 
sieur de  Cassagnac?  I  heard  that  he  has  a  duel 
every  day !" 

After  about  an  hour,  this  rapid-fire  questioning 
began  to  slow  down ;  and  having  satisfied  her  curi- 
osity to  the  full  extent  of  my  fantastical  imagina- 
tion, I  was  at  liberty  to  pick  my  own  subjects  of 
conversation. 

I  told  her  stories  of  the  gay  Parisian  life.  She 
took  them  in  with  both  eyes  and  ears.  She  must 
certainly  have  conceived  a  strange  idea  of  the  great, 
well-known  ladies  of  Paris.  They  were  all  stories 
of  clandestine  appointments,  rapid  victories  and  pas- 
sionate defeats.  From  time  to  time  she  would  ask 
me: 

"Oh!  is  that  the  way  they  live?" 

I  answered  with  a  sly  smile : 

"Of  course,  the  average  middle-class  families 
lead  an  uneventful,  monotonous  life,  respecting  a 
virtue  which  no  one  appreciates." 

I  began  ironically  to  philosophize  about  virtue.  I 
talked  carelessly  of  the  poor  fools  who  go  through 
life  without  ever  having  known  the  good,  sweet 
things,  without  ever  having  tasted  the  delicious 
pleasures  of  stolen  kisses,  so  passionate  and  fervid, 
because  they  have  married  some  stick  of  a  husband 
whose  marital  modesty  has  allowed  them  to  spend 
their  lives  in  total  ignorance  of  refined  sensuousness 
and  delicate  sentiment. 

Then  I  began  to  tell  her  anecdotes,  stories  of  little 


156  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

private  dinners,  of  intrigues  which  I  declared  were 
known  the  world  over.  The  refrain  was  always  the 
same,  it  was  always  discreet,  veiled  praise  of  sudden 
and  hidden  love,  of  the  sensation  stolen  like  a  fruit, 
while  passing  by,  and  forgotten  as  soon  as  it  is 
over. 

Night  came  on,  calm  and  warm.  The  great  ves- 
sel, trembling  under  the  impulse  of  its  massive  ma- 
chinery, was  gliding  over  the  seas,  under  the  star- 
studded  sky. 

The  little  woman  was  silent.  She  was  breathing 
slowly  and  sometimes  sighing.  Suddenly  she  arose : 

"I  am  going  to  bed,"  she  said;  "good  night, 
Monsieur." 

She  shook  hands  with  me. 

I  knew  that  she  expected  to  take,  the  next  even- 
ing, the  coach  which  goes  from  Bastia  to  Ajaccio 
through  the  mountains,  and  which  stays  over  night 
on  the  way. 

I  answered : 

"Good  night,  Madame." 

I  then  went  to  my  cabin. 

The  next  morning  early  I  reserved  all  three  seats 
in  the  coach  for  myself,  alone. 

At  nightfall,  as  I  was  climbing  into  the  old  wagon 
which  was  about  to  leave  Bastia,  the  driver  asked 
me  whether  I  would  be  willing  to  give  up  a  little 
room  to  a  lady.  I  asked  gruffly : 

"To  what  lady?" 

"To  an  officer's  wife  who  is  going  to  Ajaccio." 


CHECKMATE!  157 

"Tell  this  person  that  I  will  willingly  give  her 
a  seat." 

She  arrived,  having  spent  the  day  sleeping,  as 
she  said.  She  excused  herself,  thanked  me  and 
climbed  in. 

This  coach  was  a  kind  of  hermetically  sealed 
box,  getting  no  light  except  through  its  two  doors. 
There  we  were,  face-to-face  in  the  interior.  The 
horses  were  going  at  a  lively  trot ;  then  we  got  into 
the  mountains.  A  fresh  and  penetrating  odor  of 
aromatic  herbs  drifted  in  through  the  open  win- 
dows, that  strong  smell  which  Corsica  spreads 
around  itself  so  far  that  the  sailors  can  recognize  it 
on  the  sea,  so  subtle  that  it  is  hard  to  analyze  it.  I 
began  once  more  to  speak  of  Paris,  and  she  lis- 
tened to  me  again  with  feverish  attention.  My 
stories  became  bolder  and  full  of  those  veiled  words 
which  stir  the  blood. 

Night  had  fallen  completely.  I  could  no  longer 
see  anything,  not  even  the  white  spot  which,  a  min- 
ute ago,  the  young  woman's  face  made  in  the  dark- 
ness. The  driver's  lantern  lighted  only  the  four 
horses,  which  were  slowly  climbing. 

From  time  to  time  the  sound  of  a  mountain  tor- 
rent, rushing  through  the  rocks,  came  to  us  mingled 
with  the  noise  of  the  bells  on  the  horses,  then  it 
was  soon  lost  in  the  distance  behind  us. 

Slowly  I  advanced  my  foot  and  met  hers,  which 
she  did  not  remove.  Then  I  no  longer  moved,  and 
suddenly  I  began  to  talk  of  tenderness  and  of  affec- 


158  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

tion.  I  had  advanced  my  hand  and  met  hers.  She 
did  not  remove  that  either.  I  kept  on  talking, 
nearer  to  her  ear,  very  close  to  her  mouth.  I  already 
felt  her  heart  beating  against  my  breast.  It  was 
beating  fast  and  strong — good  sign ;  then,  slowly,  I 
placed  my  lips  on  her  neck,  sure  that  I  held  her,  so 
sure  that  I  would  have  staked  my  life  on  it. 

But  suddenly  she  gave  a  start,  as  if  she  had 
just  waked  up,  such  a  start  that  I  flew  over  to  the 
other  side  of  the  carriage.  Then,  before  I  had  had 
time  to  understand,  to  think  of  anything,  I  first 
received  five  or  six  terrible  slaps  in  the  face,  and 
then  a  shower  of  punches,  which  came  to  me  hard 
and  heavy,  hitting  me  everywhere,  without  my  be- 
ing able  to  ward  them  off  in  the  dense  obscurity 
which  surrounded  this  struggle. 

I  stretched  out  my  hands,  trying  vainly  to  seize 
her  arms.  Then,  no  longer  knowing  what  to  do,  I 
turned  around  quickly,  presenting  to  her  furious 
attack  only  my  back,  and  hiding  my  head  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  cushioned  seats. 

She  seemed  to  understand,  perhaps  by  the  sound 
of  the  blows,  this  ruse  of  a  desperate  man,  and  she 
stopped  hitting  me. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  went  back  to  her  corner, 
and  for  at  least  an  hour  kept  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

I  had  sat  down  again,  very  uneasy  and  ashamed. 
I  would  have  liked  to  talk  to  her,  but  what  could  I 
say?  I  could  think  of  nothing!  Make  excuses? 


CHECKMATE!  159 

That  would  be  stupid !  What  would  you  have  said? 
Nothing,  you  may  be  sure. 

She  was  heaving  great  sighs  now,  which  affected 
me  and  distressed  me.  I  would  have  liked  to  con- 
sole her,  to  kiss  her,  as  one  kisses  a  sorrowing  child, 
to  beg  her  pardon,  to  throw  myself  at  her  feet,  but 
I  did  not  dare. 

Those  situations  are  very  annoying. 

At  last  she  became  calmer,  and  we  remained  in 
our  own  corners,  motionless  and  speechless,  while 
the  carriage  kept  on,  stopping  from  time  to  time 
for  new  relays.  Then  we  would  both  quickly  close 
our  eyes,  so  as  not  to  see  each  other  when  the  bright 
rays  of  a  stable  lantern  penetrated  our  Stygian 
darkness.  Then  the  coach  would  start  again,  and 
the  sweet  perfumed  air  of  the  Corsican  mountains 
caressing  my  cheeks  and  lips  intoxicated  me  like 
wine. 

By  Jove!  what  a  wonderful  trip  it  would  have 
been  if  my  companion  had  not  been  so  foolish. 

Slowly  daylight  began  to  creep  into  the  carriage, 
the  pale  light  of  early  dawn.  I  looked  at  my  neigh- 
bor. She  was  pretending  to  sleep.  Then  the  sun, 
having  risen  behind  the  mountains,  soon  covered 
with  light  an  immense  blue  gulf,  surrounded  by 
enormous  granite-capped  peaks. 

My  neighbor  then  pretended  to  awake.  She 
opened  her  eyes  (they  were  red)  ;  she  opened  her 
mouth  as  if  to  yawn,  just  as  if  she  had  slept  for 
a  long  time.  Then  she  hesitated,  and  stammered: 


160  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Shall  we  soon  be  there?" 

"Yes,  Madame,  in  less  than  an  hour." 

She  continued,  looking  out  in  the  distance: 

"It's  very  tiresome  to  spend  the  night  in  a  car- 
riage." 

"Yes,  it  makes  one  quite  lame." 

"Especially  after  a  trip  on  the  water." 

"Oh!  yes." 

"Is  that  Ajaccio  ahead  of  us?" 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"I  wish  we  were  there." 

"I  understand  that." 

The  sound  of  her  voice  was  a  little  troubled,  her 
manner  a  little  embarrassed,  her  eye  a  little  shifty. 
However,  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  everything. 

I  admired  her.  How  instinctively  artful  those 
little  minxes  are!  What  diplomats! 

In  about  an  hour  we  arrived ;  and  a  big  dragoon, 
built  like  a  Hercules,  standing  before  the  office, 
waved  his  handkerchief  on  discovering  the  carriage. 

My  neighbor  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  kissed  him  at  least  twenty  times,  repeating: 

"How  are  you,  dearest?  I  was  so  anxious  to  see 
you!" 

My  trunk  had  been  taken  from  the  top  of  the 
coach,  and  I  was  discreetly  retreating  when  she 
called  me  back: 

"Oh,  Monsieur,  are  you  leaving  without  saying 
good-by  to  me  ?" 

I  stammered:  "Madame,  I  was  leaving  you  to 
your  joy." 


CHECKMATE !  161 

Then  she  said  to  her  husband:  "Darling,  thank 
Monsieur;  he  was  charming  to  me  throughout  the 
trip.  He  even  offered  me  a  seat  in  the  carriage 
which  he  had  reserved  for  himself.  It  is  a  pleas- 
ure to  meet  such  agreeable  companions." 

The  big  dragoon  shook  my  hand,  thanking  me 
effusively. 

The  young  woman  smiled  as  she  watched  us  to- 
gether. I  must  have  looked  like  a  fool ! 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  LEAP 

HIGH  perpendicular  cliffs  line  the  sea-front  be- 
tween, Dieppe  and  Havre.  In  a  depression  in 
the  cliffs,  here  and  there  one  sees  a  little  nar- 
row gulch  with  steep  sides  covered  with  short  grass 
and  gorse,  which  descends  from  the  cultivated  table- 
land toward  a  shingly  beach,  where  it  ends  in  a  de- 
pression like  the  bed  of  a  torrent.  Nature  made 
those  valleys ;  the  rainstorms  created  the  depressions 
in  which  they  terminate,  wearing  away  what  re- 
mained of  the  cliffs,  and  channeling  as  far  as  the 
sea  the  bed  of  the  stream. 

Sometimes  a  village  is  concealed  in  these  gulches, 
into  which  the  wind  rushes  straight  from  the  open 
sea. 

I  spent  a  summer  in  one  of  these  valleys  with  a 
peasant,  from  whose  house,  facing  the  waves,  I 
could  see  a  huge  triangular  sweep  of  blue  water 
framed  by  the  green  slopes  of  the  valley,  and  lighted 
up  in  places  by  white  sails  passing  in  the  sunlight. 

The  road  leading  toward  the  sea  ran  through 
the  farther  end  of  the  defile,  abruptly  passed  be- 

162 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  LEAP  163 

tween  two  chalk-cliffs  and  became  a  sort  of  deep 
gulley  before  opening  on  a  beautiful  carpet  of 
smooth  pebbles,  rounded  and  polished  by  the  im- 
memorial caress  of  the  waves. 

This  steep  gorge  was  called  the  "Shepherd's 
Leap."  Here  is  the  drama  that  originated  this  name. 

The  story  goes  that  this  village  was  at  one 
time  ruled  by  an  austere  and  violent  young  priest. 
He  left  tfie  seminary  filled  with  hatred  toward 
those  who  lived  according  to  natural  laws  and 
did  not  follow  the  laws  of  his  God.  Inflexibly 
severe  on  himself,  he  displayed  merciless  intoler- 
ance towards  others.  One  thing  above  all  stirred 
him  with  rage  and  disgust — love.  If  he  had  lived 
in  cities  in  the  midst  of  the  civilized  and  the  re- 
fined, who  conceal  the  brutal  dictates  of  nature  be- 
hind delicate  veils  of  sentiment  and  tenderness,  if 
he  had  heard  the  confessions  of  perfumed  sinners  in 
some  vast  cathedral  nave,  in  which  their  guilt  was 
softened  by  the  grace  of  their  fall  and  the  ideal- 
ism surrounding  material  kisses,  perhaps  he  would 
not  have  felt  those  fierce  revolts,  those  inordinate 
outbursts  of  anger,  that  took  possession  of  him 
when  he  witnessed  the  vulgar  misconduct  of  some 
rustic  pair  in  a  ditch  or  in  a  barn. 

He  likened  them  to  brutes,  these  people  who 
knew  nothing  of  love  and  who  simply  paired  like 
animals;  and  he  hated  them  for  the  coarseness  of 
their  souls,  for  the  foul  way  in  which  they  ap- 
peased their  instincts,  for  the  repulsive  merriment 


164  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

exhibited  even  by  old  men  when  they  happened  to 
talk  about  these  unclean  pleasures. 

Perhaps,  too,  he  was  tortured,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, by  the  pangs  of  appetites  which  he  had  re- 
frained from  satiating,  and  secretly  troubled  by  the 
struggle  of  his  body  in  its  revolt  against  a  spirit 
despotic  and  chaste.  But  everything  that  had  ref- 
erence to  the  flesh  filled  him  with  indignation,  made 
him  furious;  and  his  sermons,  full  of  threats  and 
indignant  allusions,  caused  the  girls  to  titter  and 
the  young  fellows  to  cast  sly  glances  at  them  across 
the  church ;  while  the  farmers  in  their  blue  blouses 
and  their  wives  in  their  black  mantles  said  to  each 
other  on  their  way  home  from  mass  before  enter- 
ing their  houses,  from  the  chimney  of  each  of  which 
ascended  a  thin  blue  film  of  smoke: 

"He  does  not  joke  about  the  matter,  Mo'sieu' 
the  Cure !" 

On  one  occasion,  and  for  very  slight  cause,  he 
flew  into  such  a  passion  that  he  lost  his  reason. 
He  went  to  see  a  sick  woman.  As  soon  as  he 
reached  the  farm-yard,  he  saw  a  crowd  of  children, 
staring  curiously  at  something,  standing  there  mo- 
tionless, with  concentrated  silent  attention.  The 
priest  walked  toward  them.  It  was  a  dog  and  her 
litter  of  puppies.  In  front  of  the  kennel  five  little 
puppies  were  swarming  around  their  mother,  af- 
fectionately licking  them,  and  at  the  moment  when 
the  cure  stretched  forward  his  head  above  the  heads 
of  the  children,  a  sixth  tiny  pup  was  born.  All  the 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  LEAP  165 

brats,  seized  with  joy  at  the  sight  of  it,  began  to 
bawl  out,  clapping  their  hands:  "Here's  another  of 
them !  Here's  another  of  them !" 

To  them  it  was  a  pleasure,  a  natural  pleasure, 
into  which  nothing  impure  entered;  they  gazed 
at  the  birth  of  the  puppies  just  as  they  would  have 
looked  at  apples  falling  from  trees.  But  the  man 
with  the  black  robe  was  quivering  with  indigna- 
tion, and,  losing  his  head,  he  lifted  up  his  big  blue 
umbrella  and  began  to  beat  the  youngsters,  who  re- 
treated at  full  speed.  Then,  finding  himself  alone 
with  the  animal,  he  proceeded  to  beat  her  also.  As 
in  her  -rendition  she  was  unable  to  run  away,  she 
moaned  while  she  struggled  against  his  attack,  and, 
jumping  on  top  of  her,  he  crushed  her  under  his 
feet,  and  with  a  few  kicks  finished  her.  Then  he 
left  the  body  bleeding  in  the  midst  of  the  new-born 
making  efforts  to  get  at  the  mother's  teats. 

He  would  take  long  walks,  all  alone,  with  a  frown 
on  his  face.  One  evening  in  May,  when  he  was 
returning  from  a  place  some  distance  away,  and 
going  along  by  the  cliff  to  get  back  to  the  village, 
a  hard  shower  of  rain  impeded  his  progress.  He 
could  see  no  house,  only  the  bare  coast  on  every 
side  riddled  by  the  pelting  downpour. 

The  rough  sea  dashed  against  him  in  masses  of 
foam ;  and  thick  black  clouds  gathering  at  the  hori- 
zon redoubled  the  rain.  The  wind  whistled,  blew 
great  guns,  battered  down  the  growing  crops,  and 
assailed  the  dripping  Abbe,  filling  his  ears  with 


166  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

noises  and  exciting  his  heart  with  its  tumultuous  din. 

He  took  off  his  hat,  exposing  his  forehead  to  the 
storm,  and  by  degrees  approached  the  descent 
toward  the  lowland.  But  he  had  such  a  rattling  in 
his  throat  that  he  could  not  advance  farther,  and, 
all  of  a  sudden,  he  espied  near  a  sheep  pasture  a 
shepherd's  hut,  a  kind  of  movable  box  on  wheels, 
which  the  shepherds  can  drag  in  summer  from 
pasture  to  pasture. 

Above  a  wooden  stool,  a  low  door  was  open,  af- 
fording a  view  of  the  straw  inside. 

The  priest  was  on  the  point  of  entering  to  take 
shelter  when  he  saw  a  loving  couple  embracing 
each  other  in  the  shadow.  Thereupon  he  abruptly 
closed  the  door  and  fastened  it;  then,  getting  into 
the  shafts,  he  bent  his  lean  back  and  dragged  the 
hut  after  him,  like  a  horse.  And  thus  he  ran  along 
in  his  drenched  cassock  toward  the  steep  incline, 
the  fatal  incline,  with  the  young  couple  he  had 
caught  together,  who  were  banging  their  fists 
against  the  door  of  the  hut,  believing  probably  that 
the  whole  thing  was  only  the  practical  joke  of  a 
passer-by. 

When  he  got  to  the  top  of  the  descent,  he  let  go 
of  the  frail  struct' ire,  which  began  to  roll  over 
the  sloping  side  of  ;hf  cliff.  It  then  rolled  down  pre- 
cipitately, carried  along  blindly,  ever  increasing  in 
the  speed  of  its  course,  leaping,  stumbling  like  an 
animal,  striking  the  ground  with  its  shafts. 

An  old  beggar,  cuddled  up  in  a  gap  near  the  cliff, 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  LEAP  167 

saw  it  passing  with  a  rush  above  his  head,  and  he 
heard  dreadful  cries  coming  from  the  interior  of 
the  wooden  box. 

Suddenly  a  wheel  fell  off,  from  a  collision  with 
a  stone;  and  then  the  hut,  falling  on  one  side, 
began  to  topple  downward  like  a  ball,  like  a  house 
torn  from  its  foundation,  and  tumbling  down  from 
the  top  of  a  mountain;  and  then,  having  reached 
the  edge  of  the  last  depression,  it  turned  over,  de- 
scribing a  curve  in  its  fall,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the 
cliff  was  broken  like  an  egg. 

The  pair  of  lovers  were  picked  up,  bruised,  bat- 
tered, with  all  their  limbs  fractured,  still  clasped 
in  each  other's  arms,  but  now  through  terror. 

The  cure  refused  to  admit  their  corpses  into  the 
church  or  to  pronounce  a  benediction  over  their 
coffins.  And  on  the  following  Sunday  in  his  ser- 
mon he  spoke  vehemently  about  the  Seventh  Com- 
mandment, threatening  the  lovers  with  an  avenging 
and  mysterious  arm,  and  citing  the  terrible  example 
of  the  two  wretches  killed  in  the  midst  of  their  sin. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  church,  two  gendarmes  ar- 
rested him.  A  coast-guard  who  was  in  a  sentry-box 
had  seen  him.  The  priest  was  sentenced  to  a  term 
of  penal  servitude.  And  the  peasant  who  told  me 
the  story  added  gravely: 

"I  knew  him,  Monsieur.  He  was  a  rough  man, 
that's  a  fact,  but  he  did  not  like  fooling." 


A  HUSBAND'S  CONFESSION 

WHEN  Capcain  Hector-Marie  de  Fontenne 
married  Mademoiselle  Laurine  d'Estelle, 
their  relatives  and  friends  thought  it  would 
be  an  unhappy  marriage. 

Mademoiselle  Laurine,  pretty,  slender,  fair,  and 
bold,  at  twelve  years  of  age  had  as  much  self-assur- 
ance as  a  woman  of  thirty.  She  was  one  of  those 
little  precocious  Parisiennes  who  seem  to  be  born 
with  all  the  worldly  wisdom,  all  the  little  feminine 
tricks,  all  the  emancipation  of  ideas,  with  that  as- 
tuteness and  suppleness  of  mind  that  seems  to  pre- 
destinate certain  individuals  in  whatever  they  do  to 
trick  and  deceive  others.  All  their  actions  seem 
premeditated,  all  their  proceedings  a  matter  of  cal- 
culation, all  their  words  carefully  weighed;  their 
existence  is  only  their  part  in  a  drama. 

She  was  also  charming;  laughed  readily,  so  read- 
ily that  she  could  not  restrain  herself  when  anything 
seemed  amusing  and  humorous.  She  would  laugh 
right  in  a  person's  face  in  the  most  impudent  man- 
ner, but  she  did  it  so  gracefully  that  no  one  ever 
grew  angry. 

168 


A  HUSBAND'S  CONFESSION          169 

She  was  rich,  very  rich.  A  priest  served  as  go- 
between  in  arranging  her  marriage  with  Captain  de 
Fontenne.  This  officer,  brought  up  in  a  monastery 
in  the  most  austere  manner,  had  taken  with  him  into 
his  regiment  his  monastic  manners,  rigid  principles, 
and  absolute  intolerance.  He  was  one  of  those  men 
who  invariably  become  either  saints  or  nihilists; 
men  who  are  absolutely  dominated  by  an  ideal, 
whose  beliefs  are  inflexible. 

He  was  a  big,  dark-haired  young  fellow,  serious, 
severe,  with  an  ingenuous  mind,  decided  and  obsti- 
nate, one  of  those  men  who  pass  through  life  with- 
out ever  understanding  its  hidden  meaning,  its 
shadings  and  subtleties,  who  guess  at  nothing,  sus- 
pect nothing,  and  will  not  allow  any  one  to  think 
differently,  form  a  different  opinion,  believe  or  act 
differently  from  themselves. 

Mademoiselle  Laurine  saw  him,  read  his  charac- 
ter at  once,  and  accepted  him  as  her  husband. 

They  got  along  well  together.  She  was  yielding, 
clever,  and  sensible,  knowing  how  to  act  her  part, 
and  always  ready  to  assist  in  good  works,  and  on 
the  occasion  of  festivals  a  constant  attendant  at 
church  and  at  the  theater,  worldly  and  strict,  with  a 
little  ironical  look,  a  twinkle  in  her  eye  when  she 
chatted  gravely  with  her  husband.  She  told  him 
about  her  charitable  undertakings  in  association 
with  all  the  priests  of  the  parish  and  the  environs, 
and  she  took  advantage  of  this  pious  occupation 
to  remain  out  of  doors  all  day. 

Vol.  1—12 


170  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

But  sometimes,  in  the  midst  of  telling  him  about 
an  act  of  charity,  she  would  suddenly  go  off  into 
an  idiotic  laugh,  a  nervous  laugh  that  she  could  not 
restrain.  The  Captain  was  surprised,  perplexed,  a 
little  shocked  at  seeing  his  wife  suffocating  with 
laughter.  When  she  quieted  down  a  little  he  asked : 
"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Laurine?"  She  re- 
plied: "Nothing!  I  just  happened  to  remember 
something  funny  that  occurred." 

In  the  summer  of  1883,  Captain  Hector  de  Fon- 
tenne  took  part  in  the  grand  maneuvers  of  the 
Thirty-Second  Army  Corps. 

One  evening,  when  they  were  encamped  on  the 
outskirts  of  a  town,  after  ten  days  of  tenting  in  the 
field,  ten  days  of  fatigue  and  privations,  the  Cap- 
tain's comrades  determined  to  have  a  good  dinner. 

Monsieur  de  Fontenne  refused  at  first  to  form 
one  of  the  party;  but,  as  they  seemed  surprised  at 
his  refusal,  he  consented. 

His  neighbor  at  table,  Commandant  de  Favre, 
while  chatting  about  military  operations,  the  onl) 
thing  that  interested  the  Captain,  kept  filling  up  his 
glass  with  wine.  It  had  been  a  very  warm  day,  a 
heavy,  dry  heat  that  made  one  thirsty,  and  the  cap- 
tain drank  without  noticing  that  gradually  he  was 
becoming  filled  with  fresh  vivacity,  with  a  certain 
ardent  joy,  a  happiness  full  of  awakened  desires, 
of  unknown  appetites,  of  vague  hopes. 

At  dessert  he  was  intoxicated.  He  talked, 
laughed,  became  restless,  noisily  drunk,  with  the 


A  HUSBAND'S  CONFESSION         171 

mad  drunkenness  of  a  man  who  is  habitually  quiet 
and  sober. 

It  was  proposed  that  they  should  finish  the  even- 
ing at  the  theater.  He  accompanied  his  friends. 
One  of  them  recognized  an  actress  whom  he  had 
been  in  love  with,  and  they  arranged  a  supper  at 
which  were  present  some  of  the  women  of  the 
company. 

The  following  day  the  Captain  awoke  in  a  strange 
room,  and  a  little,  fair  woman  said,  as  she  saw  him 
open  his  eyes : 

"  Good  morning,  mon  gros  chat !"  At  first  he  did 
not  understand.  Then,  little  by  little,  his  memory 
returned,  although  it  was  somewhat  indistinct. 

Then  he  got  up  without  saying  a  word,  dressed, 
and  left  the  room,  after  emptying  his  purse  on  the 
mantelpiece. 

He  was  filled  with  shame  when  he  stood  up  in 
his  uniform,  with  his  sword  at  his  side,  in  this  fur- 
nished room  with  its  rumpled  curtains  and  shabby 
couch,  and  he  was  afraid  to  leave  and  go  down  the 
stairs,  where  he  might  meet  the  janitor,  and,  above 
all,  he  hated  to  go  into  the  street  where  the  neigh- 
bors and  passers-by  would  see  him. 

The  woman  kept  repeating:  "What  has  hap- 
pened to  you?  Have  you  lost  your  tongue?  It 
was  hung  on  wires  last  night,  however!  What  a 
face !" 

He  bowed  stiffly,  and,  having  decided  that  he 
would  leave  the  house,  he  returned  home  at  a  rapid 


172  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

pace,  feeling  convinced  that  every  one  could  tell 
from  his  manner,  his  behavior,  his  face,  where  he 
had  been. 

He  was  filled  with  remorse,  the  tormenting  re- 
morse of  an  upright,  scrupulous  man. 

He  went  to  confession,  and  took  communion ;  but 
he  was  ill  at  ease,  haunted  by  the  remembrance  of 
his  fall  and  by  the  feeling  of  an  indebtedness,  a 
sacred  indebtedness  contracted  against  his  wife. 

He  did  not  see  her  for  a  month,  as  she  had  gone 
to  visit  with  her  parents  while  the  maneuvers  lasted. 

She  came  to  him  with  open  arms,  a  smile  on  her 
lips.  He  welcomed  her  with  an  embarrassed  and 
guilty  air,  and  avoided  almost  all  conversation  until 
evening. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone  she  said : 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  mon  ami?  I 
think  you  have  changed  very  much." 

"Nothing  is  the  matter  with  me,  my  dear,  abso- 
lutely nothing." 

"Excuse  me,  I  know  you  well,  and  I  am  sure 
there  is  something,  some  anxiety,  some  sorrow, 
some  annoyance,  I  know  not  what." 

"Well,  then,  yes.     I  have  some  anxiety." 

"Ah!  what  is  it?" 

"I  cannot  possibly  tell  you." 

"  Not  tell  me !    Why  ?    You  make  me  uneasy." 

"I  can  give  you  no  reason.  It  is  impossible  for 
me  to  tell  you." 

She  had  sat  down  on  a  causeuse,  and  he  was 


A  HUSBAND'S  CONFESSION          173 

walking  up  and  down  the  room,  his  hands  behind 
his  back,  and  avoided  looking  at  his  wife.  She  con- 
tinued : 

"Well,  then,  I  shall  have  to  make  you  confess;  it 
is  my  duty,  and  I  shall  exact  from  you  the  truth ;  it 
is  my  right.  You  can  no  more  have  a  secret  from 
me  than  I  can  have  one  from  you." 

He  said,  as  he  turned  his  back  to  her  and  stood 
framed  in  the  long  window: 

"My  dear,  there  are  certain  things  it  is  best 
not  to  tell.  This  thing  that  worries  me  is  one  of 
them." 

She  rose,  walked  across  the  room,  and,  taking 
him  by  the  arm,  made  him  turn  round  facing  her ; 
then,  putting  her  two  hands  on  his  shoulders  and 
smiling,  she  looked  up  in  a  caressing  manner  and 
said : 

"Come,  Marie"  (she  called  him  Marie  in  mo- 
ments of  tenderness),  "you  cannot  hide  anything 
from  me.  I  shall  imagine  that  you  have  done  some- 
thing wrong." 

"I  have  done  something  very  wrong,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

"Oh,  is  it  as  bad  as  that?"  she  said  gayly.  "As 
bad  as  that?  I  am  very  much  astonished  at  you!" 

"I  will  not  tell  you  any  more,"  he  replied,  with 
annoyance;  "it  is  useless  to  insist." 

But  she  drew  him  down  on  the  armchair  and 
made  him  sit  down,  while  she  sat  on  his  right  knee 
and  gave  him  a  little  light  kiss,  a  quick,  flying  kiss, 
on  the  curled  tip  of  his  moustache. 


174  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"If  you  will  not  tell  me  anything,  we  shall  al- 
ways be  bad  friends,"  she  said. 

Distracted  with  remorse  and  tortured  with  re- 
gret, he  murmured: 

"If  I  should  tell  you  what  I  have  done  you  never 
would  forgive  me." 

"On  the  contrary,  mon  ami,  I  should  forgive  you 
at  once." 

"No,  that  is  not  possible." 

"I  swear  I  will  forgive  you." 

"No,  my  dear  Laurine,  you  never  could." 

"How  simple  you  are,  mon  ami,  not  to  say  silly! 
In  refusing  to  tell  me  what  you  have  done  you  allow 
me  to  believe  all  sorts  of  abominable  things ;  and  I 
shall  always  be  thinking  of  it,  and  be  as  much  an- 
noyed at  your  silence  as  at  your  unknown  guilt 
But  if  you  were  to  speak  to  me  frankly  I  should 
forget  all  about  it  by  tomorrow." 

"Well,  then—" 

"What?" 

He  reddened  up  to  his  ears,  and  said  in  a  serious 
tone: 

"I  am  going  to  confess  to  you  as  if  I  were  con- 
fessing to  a  priest,  Laurine." 

The  fleeting  smile  with  which  she  sometimes  lis- 
tened to  him  now  came  to  her  lips,  and  she  said,  in 
a  slightly  mocking  tone: 

"I  am  all  ears." 

"You  know,  my  dear,"  he  resumed,  "how  sober 
I  am.  I  never  drink  anything  but  water  colored 


A  HUSBAND'S  CONFESSION         175 

with  wine,  and  never  any  liquors,  as  you  well 
know." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"Well,  then,  just  imagine  that  at  the  end  of  the 
grand  maneuvers  I  forgot  myself  and  drank  a 
little  one  evening,  as  I  was  very  thirsty,  very  tired, 
very  exhausted,  and — " 

"You  became  intoxicated?  Fie,  that  was  very 
bad !" 

"Yes,  I  became  intoxicated." 

She  had  assumed  a  severe  look. 

"Come,  now,  quite  drunk,  acknowledge  it;  so 
drunk  you  could  not  walk,  tell  the  truth !" 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  as  bad  as  that.  I  had  lost  my  rea- 
son, but  not  my  equilibrium.  I  chattered,  I  laughed, 
I  was  crazy." 

He  was  silent,  and  she  said : 

"Is  that  all?" 

"No." 

"Oh!  And  then?" 

"And  then — I — did  something  disgraceful." 

She  looked  at  him,  uneasy,  a  little  disturbed  and 
also  touched. 

"What  was  it,  mon  ami?" 

"We  had  supper — with  some  actresses — and  I 
do  not  know  how  it  happened,  but  I  was  untrue  to 
you,  Laurine." 

He  said  all  this  in  a  solemn,  serious  tone. 

She  was  slightly  amazed,  but  her  eye  lighted 
up  with  sudden,  intense,  irresistible  mirth.  She 
said:  "You — you — you — " 


176  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

And  a  little,  dry,  nervous,  spasmodic  laugh  es- 
caped her  lips,  interrupting  her  speech. 

She  tried  to  be  serious ;  but  each  time  she  tried  to 
utter  a  word  a  laugh  began  in  her  throat,  was 
choked  back,  and  came  up  again  like  the  efferves- 
cence in  a  bottle  of  champagne  that  is  just  uncorked. 
She  put  her  hand  to  her  mouth  to  calm  herself,  to 
keep  back  this  untimely  mirth ;  but  her  laughter  ran 
through  her  fingers,  shook  her  chest,  and  escaped 
in  spite  of  herself.  She  stuttered: 

"You — you — deceived  me!    Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

And  she  looked  at  him  in  a  peculiar  manner,  with 
such  a  sneering  expression  that  he  was  amazed, 
astonished. 

Then,  all  at  once,  no  longer  restraining  herself, 
she  burst  out  laughing  as  if  she  had  a  nervous  at- 
tack. She  uttered  little,  short  screams,  which 
seemed  to  come  from  the  bottom  of  her  chest ;  and, 
placing  her  hands  over  her  stomach,  she  gave  way 
to  long  spasms  of  laughter,  till  she  almost  choked, 
just  like  spasms  in  whooping-cough.  And  each  time 
she  tried  to  check  them  she  laughed  all  the  more, 
each  word  she  tried  to  utter  giving  her  a  fresh 
spasm. 

"My — my — my — poor  friend — ha!  ha!  ha! — ha! 
ha!  ha!" 

He  rose,  leaving  her  seated  in  the  chair,  and 
suddenly  turning  very  pale,  he  said: 

"Laurine,  your  behavior  is  more  than  unbecom- 
ing." 


A  HUSBAND'S  CONFESS. ON         177 

She  stuttered  in  the  midst  of  her  laughter: 

"  How — how  can  I — I — I  help  it — ho  \v  funny  you 
are— ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !" 

He  became  livid  with  anger,  and  looked  at  her 
now  with  a  steady  gaze  in  which  a  strange  thought 
seemed  to  be  awakened.  All  at  once  he  opened 
his  mouth,  as  if  to  say  something,  but  said  nothing, 
and,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  went  out,  shutting  the 
door  behind  him. 

Laurine,  bent  double,  exhausted  and  weak,  was 
still  laughing,  with  a  faint  laugh  that  revived  every 
few  moments  like  the  embers  of  a  hre  that  nas  al- 
most burned  out. 


MADAME  PARISSE 

I  WAS  sitting  on  the  pier  of  the  small  port  of 
Obernon,  near  the  village  of  Salis,  looking  at 

Antibes,  bathed  in  the  setting  sun.    I  never  had 
seen  anything  so  surprising  and  so  beautiful. 

The  small  town,  inclosed  by  its  heavy,  protective 
walls,  built  by  Monsieur  de  Vauban,  reached  out 
into  the  open  sea,  in  the  middle  of  the  immense 
Gulf  of  Nice.  The  great  waves,  coming  in  from 
the  sea,  broke  at  its  feet,  surrounding  it  with  a 
wreath  of  foam;  and  beyond  the  ramparts  the 
houses  were  climbing  the  hill,  one  over  another, 
as  far  as  the  two  towers  which  rose  up  into  the  sky 
like  the  horns  of  an  ancient  helmet.  These  two 
towers  were  outlined  against  the  milky  whiteness  of 
the  Alps,  that  enormous  distant  wall  of  snow  which 
closed  in  the  entire  horizon. 

Between  the  white  foam  at  the  foot  of  the  walls 
and  the  white  snow  on  the  sky-line  the  little  city, 
resting  brilliant  against  the  bluish  background  of 
the  nearest  mountain  ranges,  presented  to  the  rays 
of  the  setting  sun  a  pyramid  of  red-roofed  houses, 

178 


MADAME  PARISSE  179 

whose  facades  were  also  white,  but  so  different  one 
from  another  that  they  seemed  of  all  tints. 

And  the  sky  above  the  Alps  was  itself  of  a  blue 
that  was  almost  white,  as  if  the  snow  had  tinted  it ; 
some  oilvery  clouds  were  floating  over  the  pale  sum- 
mits, and  on  the  other  side  of  the  Gulf  of  Nic<v 
down  by  the  water,  unrolled  like  a  white  thread 
between  the  sea  and  the  mountain.  Two  great  sails, 
driven  by  a  strong  breeze,  seemed  to  skim  over  the 
waves. 

This  view  was  one  of  those  things  so  sweet,  so 
rare,  so  delightful,  that  they  penetrate  you,  and  are 
unforgettable,  like  the  memories  of  a  joy.  One 
sees,  thinks,  suffers,  is  moved,  and  loves  with  the 
eyes.  He  who  can  feel  with  the  eye  experiences  the 
same  keen,  exquisite,  and  deep  pleasure  in  looking 
upon  men  and  things  as  the  man  with  the  delicate 
and  sensitive  ear,  when  music  overwhelms  his  soul. 

I  turned  to  my  companion,  Monsieur  Martini,  a 
pure-blooded  Southerner. 

"This  certainly  is  one  of  the  rarest  sights  that 
it  has  been  vouchsafed  to  me  to  admire. 

"I  have  seen  the  Mont  Saint-Michel,  that  mon- 
strous granite  jewel,  rise  out  of  the  sand  at  sun- 
rise. 

"I  have  seen,  in  the  Sahara,  Lake  Raianechergui, 
fifty  kilometers  long,  shining  under  a  moon  as  bril- 
liant as  our  sun  and  breathing  up  to  it  a  white 
cloud,  like  a  mist  of  milk. 

"I  have  seen,  in  the  Ljoari  Islands,  the  fantastic 


180  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

sulfhur  crater  of  the  Volcanellc,  a  giant  flower 
which  fumes  and  burns,  an  over-big  yellow  flower, 
opening  full  on  the  sea,  whose  stem  is  a  volcano. 

"But  I  have  seen  nothing  more  surprising  than 
Antibes,  standing  against  the  Alps  at  the  setting  sun. 

"And  I  know  not  how  it  is  that  memories  of 
antiquity  haunt  me ;  verses  of  Homer  come  into  my 
mind;  this  is  a  city  of  the  ancient  East,  a  city  out 
of  the  Odyssey;  this  is  Troy,  though  Troy  was  far 
from  the  sea." 

Monsieur  Martini  drew  the  guidebook  out  of  his 
pocket  and  read:  "This  city  was  originally  a  colony 
founded  by  the  Phocians  of  Marseilles,  about  340 
B.  C.  They  gave  it  the  Greek  name  of  Antipolis, 
meaning  counter-city,  city  opposite  another,  because 
it  is  in  fact  opposite  to  Nice,  another  colony  from 
Marseilles. 

"After  the  Gauls  were  conquered,  the  Romans 
turned  Antibes  into  a  municipal  city,  its  inhabitants 
receiving  the  rights  of  Roman  citizenship. 

"We  know  by  an  epigram  of  Martial  that  at  his 
time—" 

I  interrupted  him : 

"I  don't  care  what  she  was.  I  tell  you  I  see 
down  there  a  city  out  of  the  Odyssey.  The  coast 
of  Asia  and  the  coast  of  Europe  resemble  each 
other  in  their  shores,  and  no  city  on  the  other  coast 
of  the  Mediterranean  awakens  in  me  the  memories 
of  the  heroic  times  as  this  one  does." 

A  footstep  caused  me  to  turn  my  head;  a  woman, 


MADAME  PARISSE  181 

a  large,  dark  woman,  was  walking  along  the  road 
that  skirts  the  sea  in  going  to  the  cape. 

"That  is  Madame  Parisse,  you  know,"  muttered 
Monsieur  Martini,  dwelling  on  the  final  syllable. 

No,  I  did  not  know,  but  that  name,  pronounced 
nonchalantly,  that  name  of  the  Trojan  shepherd, 
confirmed  me  in  my  dream. 

Yet  I  asked:    "Who  is  this  Madame  Parisse?" 

He  seemed  astonished  that  I  did  not  know  the 
story. 

I  assured  him  that  I  did  not  know  it,  and  I  looked 
after  the  woman,  who  passed  by  without  seeing  us, 
dreaming,  walking  with  steady  and  slow  step,  as 
doubtless  the  ladies  of  old  walked. 

She  was  perhaps  thirty-five  years  of  age,  and  still 
very  beautiful,  though  a  trifle  stout. 

And  Monsieur  Martini  told  me  the  following 
story: 

Mademoiselle  Combelombe  was  married,  one 
year  before  the  war  of  1870  to  Monsieur  Parisse,  a 
government  official.  She  was  then  a  handsome 
young  girl,  as  slender  and  lively  as  she  has  now  be- 
come stout  and  sad. 

Unwillingly  she  had  accepted  Monsieur  Parisse, 
one  of  those  little  fat  men  with  short  legs  who  trip 
along,  with  trousers  always  too  large. 

After  the  war  Antibes  was  occupied  by  a  single 
battalion  commanded  by  Monsieur  Jean  de  Carme- 
lin,  a  young  officer  decorated  during  the  war,  who 
had  just  received  his  four  stripes. 


182  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

As  he  found  life  exceedingly  tedious  in  this  for- 
tress, this  stuffy  mole-hole  inclosed  by  the  enor- 
mous double  walls,  he  often  strolled  out  to  the  cape, 
a  kind  of  park  or  pine  wood  whipped  by  all  the 
winds  from  the  sea. 

There  he  met  Madame  Parisse,  who  came  out  in 
summer  evenings  to  get  the  fresh  air  under  the 
trees.  How  did  they  love  each  other  ?  Who  knows  ? 
They  met,  they  looked  at  each  other,  and  when 
out  of  sight  they  doubtless  thought  of  each  other. 
The  image  of  the  young  woman  with  the  brown 
eyes,  the  black  hair,  the  pale  skin,  this  fresh,  hand- 
some Southerner,  who  displayed  her  teeth  in  smil- 
ing, was  floating  before  the  eyes  of  the  officer  as 
he  continued  his  promenade,  biting  his  cigar  instead 
of  smoking;  and  the  image  of  the  commanding 
officer,  in  his  close-fitting  coat,  covered  with  gold, 
and  his  red  trousers,  with  a  little  blond  moustache, 
would  pass  in  the  evening  before  the  eyes  of 
Madame  Parisse,  when  her  husband,  half-shaven 
and  ill-clad,  short-legged  and  big-bellied,  came  home 
to  supper. 

Meeting  so  often,  they  perhaps  smiled  at  the 
next  meeting;  then,  seeing  each  other  again  and 
again,  they  thought  they  knew  each  other.  He 
certainly  bowed  to  her.  And  she,  surprised,  bowed 
in  return,  but  very,  very  slightly,  just  enough  for 
politeness.  But  after  two  weeks  she  returned  his 
salutation  when  away  off,  even  before  they  were 
side  by  side. 


MADAME  PARISSE  183 

He  spoke  to  her.  Of  what?  Doubtless  of  the 
setting  sun.  They  admired  it  together,  looking  for 
it  in  each  other's  eyes  oftener  than  on  the  hori- 
zon. And  every  evening  for  two  weeks  this  was 
the  commonplace  and  persistent  pretext  for  a  few 
minutes'  chat. 

Then  they  hazarded  a  few  steps  together,  talking 
of  anything  that  came  along,  but  their  eyes  were 
already  saying  to  each  other  a  thousand  more  in- 
timate things,  those  secret,  charming  things  that 
are  reflected  in  the  gentle  emotion  of  the  eye,  and 
that  cause  the  heart  to  beat,  for  they  are  a  better 
confession  of  the  soul  than  the  spoken  word. 

And  then  he  would  take  her  hand,  murmuring 
those  words  which  the  woman  divines  without 
seeming  to  hear  them. 

And  it  was  agreed  between  them  that  they  would 
love  each  other  without  making  proof  of  it  by  any- 
thing sensual  or  brutal. 

She  would  have  remained  indefinitely  at  this 
stage  of  intimacy,  but  he  wanted  more.  And  every 
day  he  urged  her  more  hotly  to  give  in  to  his  vio- 
lent desire. 

She  resisted,  she  did  not  want  it,  she  seemed 
determined  not  to  give  way. 

Yet  one  evening  she  said  to  him,  casually:  "My 
husband  has  just  gone  to  Marseilles.  He  will  be 
away  four  days." 

Jean  de  Carmelin  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  im- 
ploring her  to  open  her  door  to  ium  that  very  night 


184  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

at  eleven  o'clock.  But  she  would  not  listen  to  him, 
and  she  went  home  with  angry  mien. 

The  commander  was  in  bad  humor  all  the  eve- 
ning, and  the  next  morning  at  dawn  he  went  out 
on  the  ramparts  in  a  rage,  from  one  exercise  field 
to  the  other,  dealing  out  punishments  to  the  of- 
ficers and  men  as  one  might  fling  stones  into  a 
crowd. 

On  coming  back  for  his  breakfast,  he  found  an 
envelope  under  his  napkin  with  these  three  words: 
"To-night  at  ten."  And  he  gave  one  hundred  sous 
off-hand  to  the  waiter  serving  him. 

The  day  seemed  endless  to  him.  He  passed  part 
of  it  in  curling  his  hair  and  perfuming  himself. 

As  he  was  sitting  down  to  the  dinner-table,  an- 
other envelope  was  handed  to  him,  and  in  it  he 
found  the  following  telegram: 

"  MY  LovE :  Business  done.  I  return  this  evening  on 
the  nine  o'clock  train.  PARISSE." 

The  commander  swore  such  a  big  oath  that  the 
waiter  dropped  the  soup-tureen  on  the  floor. 

What  should  he  do?  He  certainly  wanted  her, 
that  very  evening,  at  whatever  cost ;  and  he  would 
have  her.  He  would  resort  to  any  means,  even  to 
arresting  and  imprisoning  the  husband.  Then  a 
mad  thought  struck  him.  Calling  for  paper,  he 
wrote  the  following  note: 

"MADAME:  He  will  not  come  back  this  evening,  I 
swear  it  to  you,  and  I  shall  be  where  you  know  at  ten 


MADAME  PARISSE  185 

o'clock.     Fear  nothing.     I  will  answer  for  everything,  on 
my  honor  as  an  officer. 

"JEAN  DE  CARMEUN." 

And,  having  sent  off  this  letter,  he  calmly  dined. 

Toward  eight  o'clock  he  sent  for  Captain  Gn- 
bois,  the  second  in  command,  and  he  said,  rolling 
between  his  ringers  the  crumpled  telegram  of  Mon- 
sieur Parisse: 

"Captain,  I  have  just  received  a  telegram  of  a 
very  singular  nature,  which  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  communicate  to  you.  You  will  immediately  have 
all  the  gates  of  the  city  closed  and  guarded,  so  that 
no  one,  mind  me,  no  one,  will  either  enter  or  leave 
before  six  in  the  morning.  You  will  also  have  men 
patrol  the  streets,  who  will  compel  the  inhabitants  to 
retire  to  their  houses  at  nine  o'clock.  And  one 
found  outside  beyond  that  time  will  be  conducted  to 
his  home  mann  militari.  If  your  men  meet  me  to- 
night they  will  quickly  go  out  of  my  way,  appear- 
ing not  to  know  me.  You  understand  me?" 

"Yes,  Commander." 

"Would  you  like  to  have  a  glass  of  Char- 
treuse ?" 

"With  great  pleasure,  Commander." 

They  clinked  glasses  and  drank  the  brown  liquor, 
and  Captain  Gribois  left  the  room. 

The  train  from  Marseilles  arrived  at  the  station 
at  nine  o'clock  sharp,  left  two  passengers  on  the 
platform,  and  went  on  toward  Nice. 

One  of  them,  tall  and  thin,  was  Monsieur  Saribe, 

Vol.  1—13 


186  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

the  oil  merchant,  and  the  other,  short  and  fat,  was 
Monsieur  Parisse. 

Together  they  set  out,  with  their  valises,  to  reach 
the  city,  one  kilometer  distant. 

But  when  they  arrived  at  the  gate  of  the  port 
the  guards  crossed  their  bayonets,  warning  them  to 
retire. 

Frightened,  surprised,  cowed  with  astonishment, 
they  retired  to  deliberate ;  then,  after  taking  counsel 
one  with  the  other,  they  came  back  cautiously  to 
parley,  giving  their  names. 

But  the  soldiers  evidently  had  strict  orders,  for 
they  threatened  to  shoot;  and  the  two  scared  trav- 
elers ran  off,  throwing  away  their  valises,  which 
impeded  their  flight. 

Making  the  tour  of  the  ramparts,  they  presented 
themselves  at  the  gate  on  the  route  to  Cannes. 
This  likewise  was  closed  and  guarded  by  a  men- 
acing sentinel.  The  Messrs.  Saribe  and  Parisse,  like 
the  prudent  men  they  were,  desisted  from  their 
efforts,  and  went  back  to  the  station  for  shelter,  as 
it  was  not  safe  to  be  near  the  fortification  after  sun- 
set. 

The  station  agent,  surprised  and  somnolent,  per- 
mitted them  to  remain  till  morning  in  the  waiting- 
room. 

And  they  sat  there  side  by  side,  in  the  dark,  on 
the  green  velvet  sofa,  too  frightened  to  think  of 
sleeping. 

It  was  a  long  and  weary  night  for  them. 


MADAME  PARISSE  187 

At  half-past  six  in  the  morning  they  were  in- 
formed that  the  gates  were  open,  and  that  people 
could  now  enter  Antibes. 

They  set  out  for  the  city,  but  they  failed  to  find 
their  abandoned  valises  on  the  road. 

When  they  passsed  through  the  gates,  still  some- 
what anxious,  the  Commandant  de  Carmelin,  with 
sly  glance  and  moustache  turned  up,  came  himself 
to  look  over  and  examine  them. 

Then  he  bowed  to  them  politely,  excusing  him- 
self for  having  caused  them  a  bad  night.  But  he 
had  to  carry  out  orders. 

The  people  of  Antibes  were  scared  to  death. 
Some  spoke  of  a  surprise  planned  by  the  Italians; 
others,  of  the  landing  of  the  Prince  Imperial ;  and 
others,  again,  believed  that  there  was  an  Orleanistic 
conspiracy.  The  truth  was  suspected  only  later, 
when  the  battalion  of  the  commandant  was  sent 
very  far  away,  and  Monsieur  de  Carmelin  had  been 
severely  punished. 

When  Madame  Parisse  returned,  her  promenade 
being  terminated,  she  passed  gravely  near  me,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  Alps,  whose  summits  were 
now  rosy  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

I  felt  like  saluting  her,  this  poor,  sad  woman, 
who  would  ever  be  thinking  of  this  night  of  love, 
now  far  distant,  and  of  the  bold  man  who  for  the 
sake  of  a  kiss  from  her  had  dared  to  put  a  city 
into  a  state  of  siege  and  to  compromise  his  whole 
future. 


188  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

And  to-day  he  had  probably  forgotten  her,  if  he 
did  not  relate  this  audacious,  comical,  and  tender 
farce  to  his  comrades  over  the  cups. 

Had  she  seen  him  again?  Did  she  still  love  him? 
And  I  thought:  Here  is  an  instance  of  modern 
love,  grotesque  and  yet  heroic.  The  Homer  to  sing 
of  this  new  Helena  and  the  adventure  of  her  Mene- 
laus  must  be  gifted  with  the  soul  of  Paul  de  Kock. 
And  yet  the  h^ro  of  this  deserted  woman  was  brave, 
daring,  handsome,  strong,  like  Achilles,  and  more 
:uiming  than  Ulysses, 


THE  WEDDING  NIGHT 

JACQUES  BOURDILLERE  had  sworn  that  he 
never  would  marry;  but  he  suddenly  changed 
his  mind.  It  happened  suddenly,  one  summer, 
at  the  seashore. 

One  morning,  as  he  lay  stretched  cut  on  the  sand, 
watching  the  women  coming  out  of  the  water,  a 
little  foot  had  struck  him  by  its  neatness  and  dainti- 
ness. He  looked  higher  and  was  delighted  with 
the  whole  person.  By  the  way,  he  could  see  nothing 
but  the  ankles  and  the  head  emerging  from  a 
flannel  bathrobe  carefully  held  closed.  He  was 
supposed  to  be  sensual  and  a  fast  liver.  It  was, 
therefore,  only  the  graceful  form  that  at  first 
captured  him ;  then  he  was  held  by  the  charm  of 
the  young  girl's  sweet  mind,  so  simple  and  good,  as 
fresh  as  her  cheeks  and  lips. 

He  was  presented  to  the  family,  and  he  pleased 
them.  He  immediately  fell  madly  in  love.  WheH 
he  saw  Berthe  Lannis  in  the  distance,  on  the  long 
yellow  stretch  of  sand,  he  would  tingle  to  the  roots 
of  his  hair.  When  he  was  near  her  he  would  bfc- 

189 


190  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

come  silent,  unable  to  speak  or  even  to  think,  with  a 
kind  of  bubbling  in  his  heart,  of  buzzing  in  his  ears, 
and  of  bewilderment  in  his  mind.  Was  that  love? 

He  did  not  know  or  understand,  but  he  had  fully 
decided  to  have  this  child  for  his  wife. 

Her  parents  hesitated  for  a  long  time,  restrained 
by  the  young  man's  bad  reputation.  It  was  said 
that  he  had  an  old  sweetheart,  one  of  the  binding 
attachments  which  one  always  believes  to  be  broken 
off  and  yet  which  always  hold. 

Besides,  for  a  shorter  or  longer  period,  he  loved 
every  woman  who  came  within  reach  of  his  lips. 

Then  he  settled  down  and  refused,  even  once,  to 
see  the  one  with  whom  he  had  lived  so  long.  A 
friend  tcok  care  of  this  woman's  pension  and  as- 
sured her  an  income.  Jacques  paid,  but  he  did  not 
even  wish  to  hear  of  her,  pretending  even  to  forget 
her  name.  She  wrote  him  letters,  which  he  never 
opened.  Every  week  he  recognized  the  clumsy  writ- 
ing of  the  abandoned  woman,  and  every  week  a 
greater  anger  surged  within  him  against  her,  and  he 
would  tear  the  envelope  and  the  paper,  without 
opening  it,  without  reading  one  single  line,  knowing 
the  reproaches  and  complaints  which  it  contained. 

As  but  little  faith  existed  in  his  constancy,  the 
test  was  prolonged  through  the  winter,  and  Berthe's 
hand  was  not  granted  him  until  the  spring.  The 
wedding  took  place  in  Paris  at  the  beginning  of 
May. 

Th*-.  young  couple  had  decided  not  to  take  the 


THE  WEDDING  NIGHT  191 

conventional  wedding  trip;  but  after  a  little  dance 
for  the  younger  cousins,  which  would  not  be  pro- 
longed after  eleven  o'clock,  in  order  that  this  day  of 
long  ceremonies  might  not  be  too  tiresome,  the 
young  pair  were  to  spend  the  first  night  in  the  pa- 
rental home,  and  then,  on  the  following  morning,  to 
leave  for  the  beach  so  dear  to  their  hearts,  where 
they  had  known  and  loved  each  other. 

Night  had  come,  and  the  dance  was  going  on  in 
the  large  parlor.  The  two  had  retired  to  a  little 
Japanese  boudoir,  hung  with  bright  silks  and  dimly 
lighted  by  the  soft  rays  of  a  large  colored  lantern 
hanging  from  the  ceiling  like  a  gigantic  egg. 
Through  the  open  window  the  fresh  air  from  out- 
side passed  over  their  faces  like  a  caress,  for  the 
night  was  warm  and  calm,  with  the  odor  of 
spring. 

They  were  saying  nothing  to  each  other;  they 
were  holding  each  other's  hands,  and  from  time  to 
time  squeezing  them  hard.  She  sat  there  with  a 
dreamy  look,  feeling  a  little  lost  by  this  great  change 
in  her  life,  but  smiling,  moved,  ready  to  cry,  often, 
also,  ready  almost  to  faint  from  joy,  believing  the 
whole  world  to  be  changed  by  what  had  just  hap- 
pened to  her,  nervous  she  knew  not  why,  and  feel- 
ing her  whole  body  and  soul  filled  by  an  indefinable 
and  delicious  lassitude. 

He  was  looking  at  her  persistently  with  a  fixed 
smile.  He  wished  to  speak,  but  found  nothing  to 
say,  and  so  sat  there,  putting  all  his  ardor  into  pres- 


192  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

sures  of  the  hand.  From  time  to  time  he  would 
murmur:  "Berthe!"  And  each  time  she  would 
raise  her  eyes  to  him  with  a  look  of  tenderness; 
they  would  look  at  each  other  for  a  second,  and 
then  her  look,  pierced  and  fascinated  by  his,  would 
fall. 

They  found  no  thoughts  to  exchange.  They  had 
been  left  alone,  but  occasionally  some  of  the  dancers 
would  cast  a  rapid  glance  at  them,  as  if  they  were 
the  discreet  and  trusting  witnesses  of  a  mystery. 

A  door  opened  and  a  servant  entered,  with  a 
letter  which  a  messenger  had  just  brought.  Jacques, 
trembling,  took  this  paper,  overwhelmed  by  a  vague 
and  sudden  fear,  the  mysterious  terror  of  swift 
misfortune. 

He  looked  for  a  long  time  at  the  envelope,  the 
writing  on  which  he  did  not  know,  not  daring  to 
open  it,  not  wishing  to  read  it,  with  a  wild  desire 
to  put  it  into  his  pocket  and  say  to  himself:  "I'll 
leave  that  till  to-morrow,  when  I'm  far  away !"  But 
on  one  corner  two  words  stared  at  him,  "Very 
urgent,"  filling  him  with  terror.  Saying:  "Please 
excuse  me,  my  dear,"  he  tore  open  the  envelope. 
He  read  the  paper,  grew  frightfully  pale,  looked 
over  it  again,  and,  slowly,  he  seemed  to  spell  it  out 
word  for  word. 

When  he  raised  his  head  his  whole  face  was  up- 
set. He  Ftammered:  "My  dear,  it — it's  from 
my  best  friend,  who  has  had  a  very  great  mis- 
fortune. He  has  need  of  me  immediately — for  a 


THE  WEDDING  NIGHT  193 

matter  of  life  or  death.  Will  you  excuse  me  if  I 
leave  you  for  half  an  hour?  I'll  be  right  back." 

Trembling  and  dazed,  she  stammered:  "Go, 
my  dear ;"  not  yet  having  been  his  wife  long  enough 
to  dare  to  question  him,  to  demand  to  know.  He 
disappeared.  She  remained  alone,  listening  to  the 
dancing  in  the  neighboring  parlor. 

He  had  seized  the  first  hat  and  coat  he  came 
to,  and  jumped  down  the  stairs  three  at  a  time.  As 
he  was  emerging  into  the  street  he  stopped  under 
the  gas-jet  of  the  vestibule  and  re-read  the  letter. 
This  is  what  it  said: 

"  SIR  :  A  girl  named  Ravet,  an  old  sweetheart  of  yours, 
it  seems,  has  just  given  birth  to  a  child  that  she  declares 
is  yours.  The  mother  is  about  to  die  and  is  begging  for 
you.  I  take  the  liberty  to  write  and  ask  you  to  grant  this 
last  request  to  a  woman  who  seems  to  be  very  unhappy 
and  worthy  of  pity.  Yours  truly, 

"DR.  BONNARD." 

When  he  reached  the  sick-room  the  woman  was 
already  at  the  point  of  death.  He  did  not  recog- 
nize her  at  first.  The  doctor  and  two  nurses  were 
taking  care  of  her.  And  everywhere  on  the  floor 
were  pails  full  of  ice  and  rags  covered  with  blood. 
Water  flooded  the  carpet;  two  candles  were  burn- 
ing on  a  bureau ;  behind  the  bed,  in  a  little  wicker 
crib,  the  child  was  crying,  and  each  time  it  moaned, 
the  mother,  in  torture,  would  try  to  move,  shivering 
under  her  ice  bandages. 


194  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

She  was  wounded  to  death  by  his  birth.  Her 
life  was  flowing  from  her ;  and,  notwithstanding  the 
ice  and  the  care,  the  merciless  hemorrhage  contin- 
ued, hastening  her  last  hour. 

She  recognized  Jacques,  and  wished  to  raise  her 
arms.  They  were  so  weak  that  she  could  not,  but 
tears  coursed  down  her  pallid  cheeks. 

He  dropped  to  his  knees  beside  the  bed,  seized 
one  of  her  hands,  and  kissed  it  frantically;  then, 
little  by  little,  he  drew  nearer  to  the  thin  face,  which 
started  at  the  contact.  One  of  the  nurses  was  light- 
ing them  with  a  candle,  and  the  doctor  was  watch- 
ing them  from  the  back  of  the  room. 

Then  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  sounded  as  if 
it  came  from  a  distance :  "  I  am  going  to  die,  dear ; 
promise  to  stay  to  the  end.  Oh!  don't  leave  me 
now.  Don't  leave  me  at  the  last  minute !" 

He  kissed  her  face  and  her  hair,  and.  weeping, 
he  murmured:  "Never  fear,  I  will  stay." 

It  was  several  minutes  before  she  could  speak 
again,  she  was  so  weak.  She  continued:  "The  little 
one  is  yours.  I  swear  it  before  God  and  on  my 
soul.  1  swear  it  as  I  am  dying !  I  never  have  loved 
another  man  but  you.  Promise  to  take  care  of  the 
child." 

He  was  trying  to  take  this  poor  pain-racked  body 
in  his  arms.  Maddened  by  remorse  and  sorrow,  he 
stammered:  "I  swear  to  you  that  I  will  bring  him 
up  and  love  him.  He  never  shall  leave  me." 

Then  she  tried  to  kiss  Jacques.    Powerless  to  lift 


THE  WEDDING  NIGHT  195 

her  head,  she  held  out  her  white  lips  in  an  appeal 
for  a  kiss.  He  approached  his  lips  to  pluck  this 
poor  caress. 

As  soon  as  she  f eit  a  little  calmer,  she  murmured : 
"Bring  him  here,  and  let  me  see  whether  you  love 
him." 

He  went  and  got  the  child,  and  placed  him  gently 
on  the  bed  between  them,  and  the  little  one 
stopped  crying.  She  murmured :  "Don't  move  any 
more!"  And  he  was  quiet.  And  he  stayed  there, 
holding  in  his  burning  hand  this  other  one  shaken 
by  the  shivers  of  death,  just  as,  a  while  ago,  he  had 
been  holding  a  hand  trembling  with  love.  From 
time  to  time  he  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  clock, 
which  marked  midnight,  then  one  o'clock,  then  two. 

The  physician  had  returned ;  the  two  nurses,  after 
moving  noiselessly  around  through  the  room  for  a 
while,  were  now  sleeping  on  chairs.  The  child  was 
sleeping,  and  the  mother,  with  eyes  shut,  appeared 
also  to  be  resting. 

Suddenly,  just  as  the  pale  daylight  was  creeping 
in  behind  the  curtains,  she  stretched  out  her  arms 
with  such  a  quick  and  violent  motion  that  she  almost 
threw  her  baby  on  the  floor.  A  kind  of  rattle  was 
heard  in  her  throat,  then  she  lay  on  her  back  mo- 
tionless, dead. 

The  nurses  sprang  forward  and  declared:  "All 
is  over!" 

He  looked  once  more  at  this  woman  whom  he 
had  so  loved,  then  at  the  clock,  .which  pointed  to 


196  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

four,  and  he  ran  away,  forgetting  his  overcoat,  in 
evening  dress,  with  the  child  in  his  arms. 

After  she  had  been  left  alone,  the  young  wife 
had  waited,  calmly  enough  at  first,  in  the  little  Jap- 
anese boudoir.  Then,  as  she  did  not  see  him  re- 
turn, she  went  back  to  the  parlor  with  an  indiffer- 
ent and  calm  appearance,  but  terribly  anxious. 
When  her  mother  saw  her  alone  she  asked :  "Where 
is  your  husband?"  and  was  answered:  "In  his 
room ;  he  is  coming  right  back.  " 

After  an  hour,  when  everybody  had  questioned 
her,  she  told  about  the  letter,  Jacques's  disturbed 
appearance,  and  her  fears  of  an  accident. 

Still  they  waited.  The  guests  left;  only  the 
nearest  relatives  remained.  At  midnight  the  bride 
was  put  to  bed,  all  shaken  by  tears.  Her  mother 
and  two  aunts,  sitting  around  the  bed,  were  listen- 
ing to  her  cry,  silent  and  in  despair.  The  father 
had  gone  to  the  commissary  of  police  to  obtain 
some  news  if  possible. 

At  five  o'clock  a  slight  noise  was  heard  in  the 
hall;  a  door  was  softly  opened  and  closed;  then 
suddenly  a  little  cry  like  the  mewing  of  a  cat  was 
heard  through  the  silent  house. 

All  the  women  started  forward,  and  Berthe 
sprang  ahead  of  them  all,  pushing  her  way  past 
her  aunts,  wrapped  in  a  bathrobe. 

Jacques  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  pale  and 
panting,  holding  an  infant  in  his  arms.  The  four 
women  looked  at  him,  astonished;  but  Berth*,  who 


THE  WEDDING  NIGHT  197 

had  suddenly  become  courageous,  rushed  forward 
with  anguish  in  her  heart,  exclaiming:  "What  is 
it?  What's  the  matter?" 

He  looked  around  wildly  and  answered  shortly: 
"I — I  have  a  child,  and  the  mother  has  just  died." 
And  in  his  clumsy  hands  he  held  out  the  howling 
infant. 

Without  saying  a  word,  Berthe  seized  the  child, 
kissed  it,  and  hugged  it  to  her ;  then  she  raised  her 
tear-filled  eyes  to  him,  asking:  "Did  you  say  that 
the  mother  was  dead?"  He  answered:  "Yes — in 
\ny  arms.  I  had  broken  with  her  last  summer. 
I  knew  nothing.  The  physician  sent  ?or  me." 

Then  Berthe  murmured:  "Well,  we  will  bring 
up  the  little  one." 


FATHER  AND  SON 

IN  front  of  the  building,  half  farmhouse,  half 
manor  house,  one  of  those  rural  habitations  of 
a  mixed  character  which  were  all  but  seigneurial, 
and  which  are  now  occupied  by  wealthy  farmers, 
the  dogs  lashed  beside  the  apple-trees  in  the  orchard 
near  the  house  kept  barking  and  howling  at  sight  of 
the  shooting-bags  carried  by  the  gamekeepers  and 
at  the  boys.  In  the  spacious  dining-room-kitchen, 
Hautot  Senior  and  Hautot  Junior,  M.  Bermont,  the 
tax-collector,  and  M.  Mondaru,  the  notary,  were 
eating  and  drinking  before  going  out  shooting,  for 
it  was  the  first  day  of  the  season. 

Hautot  Senior,  proud  of  all  his  possessions, 
talked  boastfully  of  the  game  his  guests  were  go- 
ing to  find  on  his  lands.  He  was  a  big  Norman, 
one  of  those  powerful,  ruddy  men,  with  lange  bones, 
who  lift  wagon-loads  of  apples  on  their  shoulders. 
Half  peasant,  half  gentleman,  rich,  respected,  influ- 
ential, autocratic,  he  obliged  his  son  Cesar  to  go 
through  the  third  form  at  college  so  that  he  might 
be  an  educated  man,  and  there  he  had  brought  his 

198 


FATHER  AND  SON  199 

studies  to  an  end,  for  fear  of  his  becoming  a  fine 
gentleman  and  neglecting  the  land. 

Cesar  Hautot,  almost  as  tall  as  his  father,  but 
thinner,  was  a  good  son,  docile,  content  with  every- 
thing, full  of  admiration,  respect  and  deference  for 
the  wishes  and  opinions  of  Hautot  Senior. 

M.  Bermont,  the  tax-collector,  a  stout  little  man, 
who  showed  on  his  red  cheeks  a  thin  network  of 
violet  veins  resembling  the  tributaries  and  the 
winding  courses  of  rivers  on  maps,  asked: 

"And  hares — are  there  any  hares?" 

Hautot  Senior  answered : 

"As  many  as  you  wish,  especially  in  the  Puy- 
satier  lands." 

"How  shall  we  set  out?"  asked  the  notary,  an 
epicure  of  a  notary,  pale  and  corpulent,  with  a 
brand-new  hunting  costume  belted  in,  which  he  had 
bought  at  Rouen. 

"That  way,  through  the  bottoms.  We  will  drive 
the  partridges  into  the  plain,  and  we  can  get  them 
there." 

And  Hautot  Senior  rose.  They  all  followed 
his  example,  took  their  guns  out  of  the  corners,  ex- 
amined the  locks,  and  stamped  their  feet  in  order  to 
adjust  their  boots,  which  were  rather  hard,  not 
having  become  flexible  from  wear.  Then  they  went 
out;  and  the  dogs,  standing  on  their  hind  legs  at 
the  ends  of  their  leashes,  gave  tongue  while  beating 
the  air  with  their  paws. 

They  set  out  toward  the  bottoms  referred  to. 
These  consisted  of  a  little  valley,  or,  rather,  a  long, 


200  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

undulating  stretch  of  poor  land,  which  on  that  ac- 
count had  remained  uncultivated,  furrowed  with 
ditches  and  covered  with  ferns,  an  excellent  pre- 
serve for  game. 

The  sportsmen  took  up  their  positions  at  some 
distance  from  each  other,  Hautot  Senior  at  the 
right,  Hautot  Junior  at  the  left,  and  the  two  guests 
in  the  middle.  The  gamekeeper,  and  others  carry- 
ing the  game-bags,  followed.  It  was  the  solemn 
moment  when  the  first  shot  is  awaited,  when  the 
heart  beats  a  little,  while  the  nervous  finger  keeps 
feeling  the  trigger. 

Suddenly  a  shot  was  heard.  Hautot  Senior  had 
fired.  They  all  stopped,  and  saw  a  partridge  sepa- 
rate from  a  covey  which  had  risen  and  fallen  down 
into  a  deep  ditch  under  a  thick  growth  of  brush. 
The  sportsman,  becoming  excited,  rushed  forward 
with  rapid  strides,  thrusting  aside  the  briars  that 
stood  in  his  path,  and  in  his  turn  disappeared  in 
the  thicket,  in  quest  of  his  game. 

Almost  at  the  same  instant  a  second  shot  was 
heard. 

"Ha!  ha!  the  rascal!"  exclaimed  M.  Bermont; 
"he  must  have  started  a  hare  down  there." 

They  all  waited,  with  their  eyes  riveted  on  the 
mass  of  brush  which  their  gaze  failed  to  pene- 
trate. 

The  notary,  making  a  speaking  trumpet  of  his 
hands,  shouted: 

"Have  you  got  them?" 

Hautot  Senior  made  no  response. 


FATHER  AND  SON  207 

Then  Cesar,  turning  to  the  gamekeeper,  said : 

"Just  go  and  assist  him,  Joseph.  We  must  keep 
walking  in  line.  We'll  wait." 

And  Joseph,  an  old  stump  of  a  man,  lean  and 
knotty,  all  of  whose  joints  formed  protuberances, 
set  off  at  an  easy  pace  down  into  the  ditch,  search- 
ing with  the  cautiousness  of  a  fox  every  opening 
through  which  a  passage  could  be  effected.  Then, 
suddenly,  he  cried: 

"Oh!   come!   come!   an  accident  has  occurred." 

They  all  hurried  forward,  plunging  through  the 
briars. 

The  elder  Hautot  had  fallen  on  his  side,  in  a 
faint,  with  both  hands  pressed  to  his  abdomen,  from 
which  blood  trickled  through  his  shooting- jacket, 
torn  by  a  bullet.  Letting  go  of  his  gun,  in  order  to 
pick  up  the  dead  partridge,  he  had  let  the  firearm 
fall,  and  the  second  barrel,  going  off  with  the 
shock,  had  torn  open  his  entrails.  They  drew  him 
out  of  the  trench,  removed  his  clothes,  and  saw  a 
frightful  wound,  through  which  the  intestines  pro- 
truded. Then,  having  ligatured  him  the  best  way 
they  could,  they  brought  him  to  his  own  house, 
and  awaited  the  doctor,  who  had  been  sent  for,  as 
well  as  the  priest. 

When  the  doctor  arrived  he  gravely  shook  his 
head,  and,  turning  toward  young  Hautot,  who  was 
sobbing  on  a  chair,  he  said: 

"My  poor  boy,  this  does  not  look  at  all  favor- 
able." 

Vol.  1—14 


202  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

But,  when  the  wound  was  dressed,  the  wounded 
man  moved  his  fingers,  opened  his  mouth,  then  his 
eyes,  cast  around  him  troubled,  haggard  glances, 
then  appeared  to  be  trying  to  recall,  to  understand, 
and  murmured: 

"Ah!  good  God!  this  has  finished  me!" 

The  doctor  held  his  hand. 

"Why,  no;  some  days  of  rest  merely — it  will 
be  nothing." 

Hautot  replied : 

"It  has  finished  me!  My  abdomen  is  gashed!  I 
know  it  well." 

Then,  all  of  a  sudden : 

"I  wish  to  talk  to  my  son,  if  I  have  time." 

Hautot  Junior,  in  spite  of  himself,  shed  tears, 
and  kept  repeating  like  a  little  boy: 

"Papa,  papa,  poor  papa!" 

But  the  father,  in  a  firm  tone,  said : 

"Come!  stop  crying — this  is  no  time  for  it.  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you.  Sit  down  there, 
quite  close  to  me.  It  will  not  take  long,  and  I  shall 
be  more  calm.  As  for  the  rest  of  you,  kindly  leave 
us  alone  for  a  minute." 

They  all  went  out,  leaving  the  father  and  son  to- 
gether. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone: 

"Listen,  son!"  he  said,  "you  are  twenty- four; 
one  can  talk  to  you.  And  then  there  is  not  such 
mystery  about  these  matters  as  we  attach  to  them. 
You  know,  do  you  not,  that  your  mother  has  been 
dead  seven  years,  and  that  I  am  not  more  than 


FATHER  AND  SON  203 

forty-five  years  myself,  seeing  that  I  was  married 
at  nineteen.  Is  not  that  true?" 

"Yes,  it  is  true." 

"  So  then  your  mother  has  been  dead  seven  years, 
and  I  have  remained  a  widower.  Well !  a  man  like 
me  cannot  remain  without  a  wife  at  thirty-seven, 
isn't  that  true?" 

The  son  replied : 

"Yes,  it  is  true." 

The  father,  out  of  breath,  very  pale,  and  his 
face  contracted  with  suffering,  continued: 

"God!  how  I  suffer!  Well,  you  understand. 
Man  is  not  made  to  live  alone,  but  I  was  unwilling 
to  take  a  successor  to  your  mother,  since  I  prom- 
ised her  not  to  do  so.  Therefore — you  under- 
stand?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"Well,  I  kept  a  young  girl  at  Rouen,  number 
eighteen,  Rue  de  1'Eperlan,  on  the  third  floor,  the 
second  door — I  am  telling  you  all  this,  don't  forget 
— a  young  girl,  who  has  been  very  nice  to  me,  lov- 
ing, devoted,  a  true  woman,  eh?  You  understand, 
my  lad?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"So  then,  if  I  am  carried  off,  I  owe  something 
to  her,  something  substantial,  that  will  place  her 
beyond  the  reach  of  want.  You  understand  ?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"I  tell  you  that  she  is  a  good  girl,  and,  but  for 
you,  and  the  remembrance  of  your  mother,  and  also 


204  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

because  we  three  lived  together  in  this  house,  I 
would  have  brought  her  here,  and  then  married  her. 
Listen — listen,  my  boy — I  might  have  made  a  will — 
I  haven't  done  so.  I  did  not  wish  to  do  so — for  it 
is  not  necessary  to  write  down  things — things  of 
this  sort — it  is  too  damaging  to  the  legitimate  chil- 
dren— and  then  it  makes  confusion — it  ruins  every 
one !  Look  you,  lawyers,  there's  no  need  of  them — 
never  consult  one.  If  I  am  rich,  it  is  because  I 
never  have  employed  one.  You  understand,  my 
son?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"Listen  again — listen  attentively!  So  then,  I 
have  made  no  will — I  did  not  desire  to  do  so — and 
then  I  knew  you;  you  have  a  good  heart,  you  are 
not  covetous,  not  stingy,  and  I  said  to  myself  that 
when  my  end  approached  I  would  tell  you  all  about 
it,  and  that  I  would  beg  of  you  not  to  forget  the 
girl.  And  then  listen  again !  When  I  am  gone,  go 
and  see  her  at  once — and  make  such  arrangements 
that  she  may  revere  my  memory.  You  have  plenty 
of  means.  You  can  spare  it— I  leave  you  enough. 
Listen!  You  won't  find  her  at  home  every  day 
in  the  week.  She  works  at  Madame  Moreau's  in 
the  Rue  Beauvoisine.  Go  there  on  a  Thursday. 
That  is  the  day  she  expects  me.  It  has  been  my 
day  for  the  past  six  years.  Poor  little  girl !  she  will 
weep! — I  say  all  this  to  you,  because  I  know  you 
so  well,  my  son.  One  does  not  tell  these  things  in 
public,  either  to  the  notary  or  to  the  priest.  They 


FATHER  AND  SON  205 

happen — every  one  knows  that — but  they  are  not 
talked  about,  save  in  case  of  necessity.  Then  there 
must  be  no  outsider  in  the  secret,  nobody  except 
the  family,  because  the  family  consists  of  one  per- 
son alone.  You  understand?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"Do  you  promise?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"Do  you  swear  it?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"I  beg  of  you,  I  implore  of  you,  son,  do  not  for- 
get. I  insist  on  this." 

"No,  father." 

"You  will  go  yourself.  I  want  you  to  make  sure 
of  everything." 

"Yes,  father." 

"And  then,  you  will  see — you  will  see  what  she 
will  explain  to  you.  As  for  me,  I  can  say  no  more 
to  you.  You  have  sworn  to  do  it." 

"Yes,  father." 

"That's  good,  my  son.  Embrace  me.  Farewell. 
I  am  going  to  die,  I'm  sure.  Tell  them  they  may 
come  in." 

Young  Hautot  embraced  his  father,  groaning  as 
he  did  so;  then,  always  docile,  he  opened  the  door, 
and  the  priest  appeared  in  a  white  surplice,  carry- 
ing the  holy  oils. 

But  the  dying  man  had  closed  his  eyes  and  re- 
fused to  open  them  again;  he  refused  to  answer, 
and  even  to  show  by  a  sign  that  he  understood. 


206  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

He  had  talked  enough,  this  man ;  he  could  speak 
no  longer.  Besides,  he  now  felt  his  heart  at  ease 
and  wanted  to  die  in  peace.  What  need  had  he  to 
make  a  confession  to  the  deputy  of  God,  since  he 
had  just  confessed  to  his  son,  who  constituted  his 
family? 

Without  any  movement  of  his  face  indicating 
that  he  still  lived,  he  received  the  last  rites,  was 
purified,  and  received  absolution,  surrounded  by 
his  friends  and  his  servants  on  their  bended  knees. 

He  expired  about  midnight,  after  four  hours  of 
spasms,  which  showed  that  he  must  have  suffered 
dreadfully. 

He  was  buried  on  Tuesday,  the  shooting-season 
having  opened  on  Sunday.  On  returning  home 
after  the  funeral  Cesar  Hautot  spent  the  rest  of  the 
day  weeping.  He  hardly  slept  that  night,  and  felt 
so  sad  on  awaking  that  he  asked  himself  how  he 
could  go  on  living. 

However,  he  kept  thinking  that,  in  order  to  obey 
his  father's  dying  wish,  he  must  go  to  Rouen  the 
following  day,  and  see  this  girl  Caroline  Donet, 
who  lived  at  eighteen  Rue  de  1'Eperlan,  the  third 
story,  second  door.  He  had  muttered  to  himself 
this  name  and  address  a  countless  number  of  times, 
just  as  a  child  repeats  a  prayer,  so  that  he  might 
not  forget  them,  and  he  ended  by  repeating  them 
continually,  without  thinking,  so  impressed  were 
they  on  his  mind. 

Accordingly,  on  the  following  day,  about  eight 


FATHER  AND  SON  207 

o'clock,  he  ordered  Graindorge  to  be  harnessed  to 
the  tilbury,  and  set  forth,  at  the  long,  swinging  pace 
of  the  heavy  Norman  horse,  along  the  highway 
from  Ainville  to  Rouen.  He  wore  his  black  frock 
coat,  his  tall  silk  hat,  and  his  trousers  strapped  un- 
der his  shoes,  and,  being  in  mourning,  did  not  put 
on  his  blue  dust-coat. 

He  entered  Rouen  at  ten  o'clock,  put  up,  as  he 
had  always  done,  at  the  Hotel  des  Bons-Enfants, 
in  the  Rue  des  Trois-Mares,  and  submitted  to  the 
embraces  of  the  landlord  and  his  wife  and  their 
five  children,  for  they  had  heard  the  melancholy 
news;  after  that,  he  had  to  tell  them  all  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  accident,  which  caused  him  to  shed 
tears;  to  repel  all  the  attentions  they  sought  to 
thrust  upon  him  merely  because  he  was  wealthy; 
and  to  decline  even  the  luncheon  they  offered  him, 
thus  wounding  their  sensibilities. 

Then,  having  wiped  the  dust  off  his  hat,  brushed 
his  coat,  and  removed  the  mud-stains  from  his 
boots,  he  set  forth  in  search  of  the  Rue  de  1'Eperlan, 
without  venturing  to  make  inquiries,  for  fear  of 
being  recognized  and  of  arousing  suspicion. 

At  last,  unable  to  find  the  place,  he  met  a  priest, 
and,  trusting  to  the  professional  discretion  of  the 
clergy,  he  questioned  the  ecclesiastic. 

He  had  only  a  hundred  steps  farther  to  go;  it 
was  the  sacond  street  to  the  right. 

Then  he  hesitated.  Up  to  that  moment  he  had 
obeyed,  like  a  mere  animal,  the  expressed  wish  of 


208  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

his  father.  Now  he  was  agitated,  confused,  hu- 
miliated, at  the  idea  of  finding  himself — the  son 
— in  the  presence  of  this  woman  who  had  been  his 
father's  sweetheart.  All  the  morality  we  possess, 
which  lies  buried  at  the  bottom  of  our  emotions 
through  centuries  of  hereditary  instruction,  all  that 
he  had  been  taught  since  he  lyw*  learned  his  cate- 
chism about  creatures  of  evil  life,  the  instinctive 
contempt  which  every  man  entertains  toward  them, 
even  though  he  may  marry  one  of  them,  all  the 
narrow  honesty  of  the  peasant  in  his  character,  was 
stirred  within  him,  and  held  him  back,  making  him 
grow  red  with  shame. 

But  he  said  to  himself : 

"  I  promised  father.  I  must  not  break  my  prom- 
ise." 

So  he  pushed  open  the  partly  opened  door  of 
number  eighteen,  saw  a  gloomy-looking  staircase, 
ascended  three  flights,  perceived  a  door,  then  a  sec- 
ond door,  saw  a  bell-rope,  and  pulled  it.  The  ring- 
ing, which  resounded  in  the  apartment,  sent  a 
shiver  through  his  frame.  The  door  was  opened, 
and  he  found  himself  face-to-face  with  a  well- 
dressed  young  lady,  a  brunette  with  rosy  cheeks, 
who  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and  she,  who  sus- 
pected nothing,  and  who  was  waiting  for  the  father, 
did  not  invite  him  to  come  in.  They  stood  look- 
ing thus  at  each  other  nearly  half  a  minute,  at 
the  end  of  which  she  said  in  a  questioning  tone : 


FATHER  AND  SON  209 

"Do  you  want  anything,  Monsieur?" 

He  falteringly  replied: 

"I  am  Monsieur  Hautot's  son." 

She  gave  a  start,  turned  pale,  and  stammered  out, 
as  if  she  had  known  him  for  a  long  time: 

"Monsieur  Cesar!" 

"Yes." 

"And  what  then?" 

"I  have  come  with  a  message  to  you  from  my 
father." 

She  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  my  God!"  and  then  drew  back  so  that  he 
might  enter.  He  shut  the  door  and  followed  her 
into  the  apartment.  Then  he  perceived  a  little  boy 
of  four  or  five  years  playing  with  a  cat,  seated  on 
the  floor  in  front  of  a  stove,  from  which  rose  an 
odor  of  food  being  kept  ho*. 

"Take  a  seat,"  she  said. 

He  sat  down. 

"Well?"  she  questioned. 

He  no  longer  ventured  to  speak,  keeping  his  eyes 
fixed  on  a  table  that  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  with  three  covers  laid  on  it,  one  of  which  was 
for  a  child,  and  a  bottle  of  claret  that  had  been 
opened,  and  one  of  white  wine  that  had  not  been 
uncorked.  He  glanced  at  the  chair  with  its  back 
turned  to  the  fire.  That  was  his  father's  chair! 
They  were  expecting  him.  That  was  his  bread 
which  he  saw  at  his  place,  for  the  crust  had  been 
removed  on  account  of  Hautot's  bad  teeth.  Then, 


210  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

raising  his  eyes,  he  noticed  on  the  wall  his  father's 
portrait,  the  large  photograph  taken  in  Paris  the 
year  of  the  exhibition,  the  same  as  that  which  hung 
above  the  bed  in  the  sleeping-apartment  at  Ainville. 

The  young  woman  again  asked : 

"Well,  Monsieur  Cesar?" 

He  kept  staring  at  her.  Her  face  was  livid  with 
anxiety,  and  she  waited,  her  hands  trembling  with 
fear. 

Then  he  took  courage. 

"Well,  Mam'zelle,  papa  died  on  Sunday  last,  just 
after  he  had  opened  the  shooting-season." 

She  was  so  overwhelmed  that  she  did  not  move. 
After  a  silence  of  a  few  seconds,  she  faltered  in  an 
almost  inaudible  tone: 

"Oh,  it  is  not  possible!" 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  burst  out  sob- 
bing. 

At  that  point  the  little  boy  turned  round,  and, 
seeing  his  mother  weeping,  began  to  roar.  Then, 
.realizing  that  this  sudden  trouble  was  brought 
about  by  the  stranger,  he  rushed  at  Cesar,  caught 
hold  of  his  trousers  with  one  hand  and  with  the 
other  hit  him  with  all  his  strength  on  the  thigh. 
And  Cesar  remained  bewildered,  deeply  affected, 
with  this  woman  mourning  for  his  father  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  little  boy  defending  his  mother  on 
the  other.  He  felt  their  emotion  taking  possession 
of  him,  and  his  eyes  were  beginning  to  fill  with 


FATHER  AND  SON  211 

tears ;  so,  to  recover  his  self-command,  he  began  to 
talk. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "the  accident  occurred  on  Sun- 
day, at  eight  o'clock — " 

And  he  told  all  the  facts  as  if  she  were  listening 
to  him,  without  forgetting  a  single  detail,  mention- 
ing the  most  trivial  matters  with  the  minuteness  of 
a  countryman.  And  the  child  was  still  attacking 
him,  kicking  his  ankles. 

When  he  came  to  what  his  father  had  said 
about  her  she  took  her  hands  from  her  face  and 
said: 

"Pardon  me!  I  was  not  following  you;  I  should 
like  to  know —  Would  you  mind  beginning  over 
again  ?" 

He  repeated  everything  in  the  same  words  with 
pauses  and  reflections  of  his  own  from  time  to  time. 
She  listened  eagerly  now,  perceiving  with  a 
woman's  keen  sensibility  all  the  sudden  changes  of 
fortune  which  his  narrative  implied,  and  trembling 
with  horror,  frequently  exclaiming: 

"Oh,  my  God!" 

The  little  fellow,  believing  that  she  had  calmed 
down,  ceased  beating  Cesar,  in  order  to  take  his 
mother's  hand,  and  he  listened,  too,  as  if  he  under- 
stood. 

When  the  narrative  was  finished,  young  Hautot 
continued : 

"Now,  we  will  settle  matters  together  in  accord- 
ance with  his  wishes.  I  am  well  off,  he  has  left 


212  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

me  plenty  of  means.  I  don't  wish  you  to  have  any- 
thing to  complain  about — " 

But  she  quickly  interrupted  him. 

"Oh!  Monsieur  Cesar,  Monsieur  Cesar,  not  to- 
day. I  am  cut  to  the  heart — another  time — another 
day.  No,  not  to-day.  If  I  accept,  listen — it  is  not 
for  myself — no,  no,  no,  I  swear  to  you,  it  is  for 
the  child.  Besides,  this  sum  will  be  placed  to  his: 
account." 

Thereupon,  Cesar,  horrified,  guessed  the  truth, 
and  stammered: 

"So  then — it  is  his — the  child?'' 

"Why,  yes,"  she  said. 

And  Hautot  Junior  gazed  at  his  brother  with  a 
confused  emotion,  intense  and  painful. 

After  a  long  silence,  for  she  was  weeping  afresh, 
Cesar,  embarrassed,  continued: 

"Well,  then,  Mam'zelle  Donet,  I  am  going.  When 
would  you  wish  to  talk  this  over  with  me?" 

She  exclaimed: 

"Oh!  no,  don't  go!  don't  go!  Don't  leave  me 
all  alone  with  Emile.  I  should  die  of  grief.  I  have 
no  longer  any  one,  any  one  but  my  child.  Oh! 
what  wretchedness,  what  wretchedness,  Monsieur 
Cesar!  Come,  sit  down  again.  Tell  me  something 
more.  Tell  me  what  he  did  at  home  all  the  week." 

And  Cesar,  accustomed  to  obey,  resumed  his  seat. 

She  drew  over  another  chair  for  herself  in  front 
of  the  stove,  where  the  dishes  had  all  this  time 
been  heating,  took  Emile  upon  her  knees,  and  asked 


FATHER  AND  SON  213 

Cesar  a  thousand  questions  about  his  father — ques- 
tions of  an  intimate  nature,  which  made  him  feel, 
without  reasoning  on  the  subject,  that  she  had  loved 
Hautot  with  all  the  strength  of  her  weak  woman's 
heart. 

And,  by  the  natural  sequence  of  his  ideas — which 
were  rather  limited  in  number — he  recurred  once 
more  to  the  accident,  and  set  about  telling  the  story 
over  again  with  all  the  same  details. 

When  he  said: 

"He  had  a  hole  in  his  stomach  that  you  could 
put  your  two  fists  into,"  she  gave  a  sort  of  shriek, 
and  her  eyes  again  filled  with  tears. 

Then,  seized  by  the  contagion  of  her  grief,  Cesar 
began  to  weep,  too,  and  as  tears  always  soften  the 
fibers  of  the  heart,  he  bent  over  Emile,  whose  fore- 
head was  close  to  his  own  mouth,  and  kissed  him. 

The  mother,  recovering  her  breath,  murmured : 

"Poor  child,  he  is  an  orphan  now!" 

"And  so  am  I,"  said  Cesar. 

And  they  were  silent. 

But  suddenly  the  practical  instinct  of  the  house- 
wife, accustomed  to  think  of  everything,  revived  in 
the  young  woman's  breast. 

"You  perhaps  have  had  nothing  to  eat  all  the 
morning,  Monsieur  Cesar." 

"No,  Mam'zelle." 

"You  must  be  hungry.    You  will  eat  a  morsel." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  hungry;  I 
have  had  too  much  sorrow." 


She  replied: 

"In  spite  of  sorrow,  we  must  live.  You  will  not 
refuse  to  let  me  get  something  for  you !  And  then 
you  will  remain  a  little  longer.  When  you  are 
gone,  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  me." 

He  yielded  after  some  further  resistance,  and, 
sitting  down  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  facing  her, 
he  ate  a  plateful  of  tripe,  which  had  been  drying  up 
in  the  gravy,  and  drank  a  glass  of  red  wine.  But 
he  would  not  allow  her  to  uncork  the  bottle  of  white 
wine.  He  several  times  wiped  the  mouth  of  the 
little  boy,  who  had  smeared  his  chin  with  gravy. 

As  he  rose  to  take  his  leave,  he  asked: 

"When  would  you  like  me  to  come  back  to  talk 
about  this  matter,  Mam'zelle  Donet?" 

"If  it  is  all  the  same  to  you,  say  next  Thursday, 
Monsieur  Cesar.  In  that  way  I  shall  not  waste  my 
time,  as  I  always  have  my  Thursdays  free." 

"That  will  suit  me — next  Thursday." 

"You  will  come  to  luncheon,  won't  you?" 

"Oh!  On  that  point  I  can't  give  you  a  prun,-- 
ise." 

"The  reason  I  suggested  it  is,  that  people  can 
chat  better  when  they  are  eating.  One  has  more 
time,  too." 

"Well,  be  it  so.    About  twelve  o'clock  then." 

And  he  took  his  departure,  after  he  had  again 
kissed  little  Emile,  and  pressed  Mademoiselle  Do- 
net's  hand. 

The  week  appeared  long  to  Cesar  Hautot.     He 


FATHER  AND  SON  215 

aever  before  had  lived  alone,  and  the  isolation 
seemed  to  him  unendurable.  Till  now  he  had  lived 
at  his  father's  side,  like  his  shadow,  followed  him 
into  the  fields,  superintended  the  execution  of  his 
orders,  and,  if  they  were  separated  for  a  short 
time,  they  again  met  at  dinner.  They  spent  the 
evenings  smoking  their  pipes  together,  sitting  op- 
posite each  other,  chatting  about  horses,  cows,  or 
sheep,  and  the  grip  of  their  hands  when  they  rose 
in  the  morning  was  a  manifestation  of  deep  family 
affection. 

Now  Cesar  was  alone.  He  went  mechanically 
about  his  autumn  duties  on  the  farm,  expecting  any 
moment  to  see  his  father's  tall,  energetic  outline 
rising  at  the  end  of  a  level  field.  To  kill  time, 
he  visited  his  neighbors,  told  about  the  accident  to 
all  who  had  not  heard  of  it,  and  sometimes  repeated 
it  to  the  others.  Then,  having  exhausted  his  occu- 
pations and  his  reflections,  he  would  sit  down  at  the 
side  of  the  road,  asking  himself  whether  this  kind 
of  life  was  going  to  last  forever. 

He  frequently  thought  of  Mademoiselle  Donet. 
He  liked  her.  He  considered  her  thoroughly  re- 
spectable, a  gentle,  good  young  woman,  as  his 
father  had  said.  Yes,  undoubtedly  she  was  a  good 
girl.  He  resolved  to  act  handsomely  toward  her, 
and  to  give  her  two  thousand  francs  a  year,  settling 
the  principal  on  the  child.  He  even  experienced  a 
certain  pleasure  in  thinking  that  he  was  going  to 
see  her  on  the  following  Thursday  and  arrange  this 


216  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

matter.  And  then  the  thought  of  this  brothel, 
this  little  chap  of  five,  who  was  his  father's  son. 
worried  him,  annoyed  him  a  little,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  pleased  him.  He  had,  as  it  were,  a  fam- 
ily in  this  youngster,  sprung  from  a  clandestine  alli- 
ance, who  never  would  bear  the  name  of  Hautot — a 
family  which  he  might  take  or  leave,  as  he  pleased, 
but  which  reminded  him  of  his  father. 

And  so,  when  he  saw  himself  on  the  road  to 
Rouen  Thursday  morning,  borne  along  by  Grain- 
dorge  with  his  measured  trot,  he  felt  his  heart 
lighter,  more  at  peace  than  it  had  been  since  his  be- 
reavement. 

On  entering  Mademoiselle  Donet's  apartment,  he 
saw  the  table  laid  as  on  the  previous  Thursday, 
with  the  sole  difference  that  the  crust  had  not  been 
removed  from  the  bread.  He  pressed  the  young 
woman's  hand,  kissed  Emile  on  the  cheeks,  and  sat 
down,  much  as  if  he  were  in  his  own  house,  al- 
though his  heart  was  full.  Mademoiselle  Donet 
seemed  to  him  a  little  thinner  and  paler.  She  must 
have  grieved  sorely.  She  now  appeared  con- 
strained in  his  presence,  as  if  she  understood  what 
she  had  not  felt  the  week  before  under  the  first 
blow  of  her  misfortune,  and  she  exhibited  an  ex- 
cessive deference  toward  him,  a  mournful  humility, 
and  made  efforts  to  please  him,  as  if  to  repay  his 
kindness.  They  were  a  long  time  at  luncheon,  talk- 
ing over  the  business  that  had  brought  him  there. 
She  did  not  want  so  much  money.  It  was  too 


FATHER  AND  SON  217 

much.  She  earned  enough  to  live  on  herself,  and 
she  only  wished  that  Emile  might  find  a  few  sous 
awaiting  him  when  he  grew  up.  Cesar  was  firn\ 
however,  and  even  added  a  gift  of  a  thousand 
francs  for  the  expenses  of  mourning. 

When  he  had  taken  his  coffee,  she  asked : 

"Do  you  smoke?" 

"Yes — I  have  my  pipe." 

He  felt  in  his  pocket.  Good  heavens!  He  had 
forgotten  it!  He  was  becoming  quite  distressed 
about  it  when  she  offered  him  a  pipe  of  his  fa- 
ther's that  had  been  put  away  in  a  closet.  He  took 
it  up,  recognized  it,  smelled  it,  spoke  of  its  quality 
in  a  tone  of  emotion,  filled  it  with  tobacco,  and 
lighted  it.  Then  he  set  Emile  astride  his  knee, 
and  gave  him  a  ride,  while  she  removed  the  table- 
cloth and  piled  the  soiled  dishes  under  the  side- 
board, intending  to  wash  them  as  soon  as  he  was 
gone. 

About  three  o'clock  he  rose  regretfully,  annoyed 
at  the  thought  of  having  to  go. 

"Well!  Mademoiselle  Donet,"  he  said,  "I  wish 
you  good  evening,  and  am  delighted  to  have  found 
you  like  this." 

She  remained  standing  before  him,  blushing, 
much  affected,  and  gazed  at  him  while  she  thought 
of  the  father. 

"Shall  we  not  see  each  other  again?"  she  said. 

He  replied  simply: 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,  if  it  gives  you  pleasure." 

Vol.  1—15 


218  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Certainly,  Monsieur  Cesar.     Will  next  Thurs- 
day suit  you?" 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle  Donet" 
"You  will  come  to  luncheon,  of  course?" 
"Well — if  you  are  so  kind  as  to  invite  me,  I  can't 
refuse." 

"It  is  understood,  then,  Monsieur  Cesar — next 
Thursday,  at  twelve,  the  same  as  today." 
"Thursday  at  twelve,  Mademoiselle  Donet!" 


THE  FALSE  JEWELS 

MONSIEUR  LANTIN  met  the  young  girl 
at  a  reception  at  the  house  of  the  second 
head  of  his  department,  and  fell  violently 
in  love  with  her. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  a  deceased  provincial 
tax-collector.  She  and  her  mother  came  to  live 
in  Paris,  where  the  latter  made  the  acquaintance  of 
families  in  her  neighborhood  and  hoped  to  find  a 
husband  for  her  daughter.  They  were  in  moderate 
circumstances,  and  were  honorable,  gentle,  and 
quiet. 

The  young  girl  was  a  perfect  type  of  the  virtu- 
ous woman  to  whom  every  sensible  young  man 
dreams  of  one  day  intrusting  his  happiness.  Her 
simple  beauty,  her  angelic  modesty,  and  the  hardly 
perceptible  smile  which  hovered  about  her  nps 
seemed  to  be  the  reflection  of  a  lovely  soul.  Her 
praises  resounded  on  every  side.  People  never  tired 
of  saying:  "Happy  the  man  who  wins  her  love! 
He  could  not  find  a  better  wife." 

Monsieur  Lantin,  then  chief  clerk  in  the  Depart- 

219 


220  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ment  of  the  Interior,  who  enjoyed  the  comfortable 
salary  of  three  thousand  five  hundred  francs,  pro 
posed  to 'this  model  young  girl,  and  was  accepted, 

He  was  unspeakably  happy  with  her.  She  gov- 
erned his  household  with  economy  and  they  seemed 
to-  live  in  luxury.  She  lavished  the  most  delicate 
attentions  on  her  husband,  coaxed  and  fondled  him ; 
and  so  great  was  her  charm  that  six  years  after 
their  marriage  Monsieur  Lantin  discovered  that  he 
loved  his  wife  even  more  than  in  their  honeymoon. 

He  disliked  only  two  of  her  tastes :  her  love  for 
the  theater  and  her  taste  for  imitation  jewelry. 
Her  friends  (the  wives  of  petty  officials)  fre- 
quently procured  for  her  a  box  at  the  theater,  often 
for  a  "  first  night" ;  and  her  husband  was  obliged  to 
accompany  her  to  these  entertainments,  which  bored 
him  excessively  after  his  day's  work  at  the  office. 

After  a  time,  Monsieur  Lantin  begged  his  wife 
to  request  some  lady  of  her  acquaintance  to  accom- 
pany her  and  to  bring  her  home  after  the  theater. 
She  opposed  this  arrangement,  at  first;  but  finally 
consented,  to  the  great  delight  of  her  husband. 

With  her  love  for  the  theater,  came  also  the 
desire  for  ornaments.  Her  costumes  remained  as 
before,  simple,  in  good  taste,  and  always  modest; 
but  she  soon  began  to  adorn  her  ears  with  huge 
rhinestones,  which  sparkled  like  real  diamonds. 
Around  her  neck  she  wore  strings  of  false  pearls, 
on  her  arms  bracelets  of  imitation  gold,  and  in 
tter  hair  combs  set  with  glass  jewels.  Her  hus- 


THE  FALSE  JEWELS  221 

band  frequently  remonstrated  with  her,  saying: 
"My  dear,  as  you  cannot  afford  to  buy  real  jew- 
elry, you  ought  to  appear  adorned  only  with  your 
beauty  and  modesty,  the  rarest  ornaments  of  your 
sex." 

But  she  would  smile  sweetly,  and  say: 
"What  can  I  do?     I  am  fond  of  jewelry;  it  is 
my  only  weakness.     We  cannot  change  our  na- 
tures." 

Then  she  would  roll  around  her  fingers  the  pearl 
necklace,  make  the  facets  of  the  crystal  gems  spar- 
kle, and  say : 

"Look!  are  they  not  lovely?  One  would  sweai 
they  were  real." 

Monsieur  Lantin  would  then  answer,  smilingly: 
"You  have  Bohemian  tastes,  my  dear." 
Sometimes,  of  an  evening,  when  they  were  en- 
joying a  tete-d-tete  by  the  fireside,  she  would  place 
on  the  tea-table  the  morocco  leather  box  containing 
the  "trash."  as  her  husband  called  it.  She  would 
examine  the  false  gems  with  a  passionate  atten- 
tion,  as  if  they  imparted  some  deep  and  secret  joy, 
and  she  often  persisted  in  passing  a  necklace  around 
his  n^ck.  and,  laughing  heartily,  exclaimed:  "How 
droll  you  look!"  Then  she  would  throw  herself 
into  his  arms,  and  kiss  him  affectionately. 

Ore  evening,  in  winter,  she  had  been  to  the  opera, 
and  returned  home  chilled  through  and  through. 
The  next  morning  she  coughed,  and  eight  days 
later  she  died  of  inflammation  of  the  lungs. 


222  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Monsieur  Lantin's  despair  was  so  great  that  his 
hair  became  white  in  one  month.  He  wept  unceas- 
ingly; his  heart  was  broken  as  he  remembered  her 
smile,  her  voice,  every  charm  of  his  dead  wife. 

Time  did  not  assuage  his  grief.  Often,  in  office 
hours,  while  his  colleagues  were  discussing  the 
topics  of  the  day,  his  eyes  would  suddenly  fill 
with  tears,  and  he  would  give  vent  to  his  grief  in 
heartrending  sobs.  Everything  in  his  wife's  room 
remained  as  it  was  during  her  lifetime;  all  her 
furniture,  even  her  clothing,  being  left  as  it  was 
on  the  day  of  her  death.  Here  he  was  wont  to 
seclude  himself  daily  and  think  of  her  who  had 
been  his  treasure,  the  joy  of  his  existence. 

But  life  soon  became  a  struggle.  His  income, 
which,  in  the  hands  of  his  wife,  covered  all  house- 
hold expenses,  was  now  no  longer  sufficient  for  his 
own  immediate  wants;  and  he  wondered  how  she 
could  have  managed  to  buy  such  excellent  wine  and 
rare  delicacies,  which  he  could  no  longer  procure 
with  his  modest  resources. 

He  incurred  some  debts,  and  was  soon  reduced 
to  absolute  poverty.  One  morning,  finding  himself 
without  a  sou  in  his  pocket,  he  resolved  to  sel) 
something,  and  immediately  the  thought  occurred 
to  him  of  disposing  of  his  wife's  paste  jewels,  for 
he  cherished  in  his  heart  a  sort  of  rancor  against 
these  "deceptions,"  which  had  always  irritated  him. 
The  very  sight  of  them  spoiled,  somewhat,  the 
memory  of  his  lost  darling. 


THE  FALSE  JEWELS  223 

To  the  last  days  of  her  life  she  had  continued 
to  make  purchases,  bringing  home  new  gems  almost 
every  evening,  and  he  turned  them  over  some  time 
before  deciding  to  sell  the  heavy  necklace,  which 
she  seemed  to  prefer,  and  which,  he  thought,  ought 
to  be  worth  six  or  seven  francs ;  for  it  was  of 
very  fine  workmanship,  though  only  imitation. 

He  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  set  out  in  search 
of  what  seemed  a  reliable  jeweler's  shop.  At  last 
he  found  one,  and  went  in,  feeling  a  little  ashamed 
to  expose  his  misery,  and  also  to  offer  such  a  worth- 
less article  for  sale. 

"Sir,"  said  he  to  the  merchant,  "I  should  like  to 
know  what  this  is  worth." 

The  man  took  the  necklace,  examined  it,  called 
his  clerk,  and  made  some  remarks  in  an  undertone ; 
he  then  put  the  ornament  back  on  the  counter,  and 
looked  at  it  from  a  distance  to  judge  the  effect. 

Monsieur  Lantin,  annoyed  at  all  these  cere- 
monies, was  on  the  point  of  saying:  "Oh!  I  know 
well  enough  it  is  not  worth  anything,"  when  the 
jeweler  said:  "Sir,  that  necklace  is  worth  from 
twelve  to  fifteen  thousand  francs;  but  I  could  not 
buy  it  unless  you  can  tell  me  exactly  where  it  came 
from." 

The  widower  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  remained 
gaping,  not  comprehending  the  merchant's  meaning. 
Finally  he  stammered:  "You  say — are  you  sure?" 
The  other  replied,  dryly:  "You  may  apply  else- 
where, and  see  whether  any  one  will  offer  you 


224  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

more.  I  consider  it  worth  fifteen  thousand  at  the 
most.  Come  back  here,  if  you  cannot  do  better." 

Monsieur  Lantin,  beside  himself  with  astonish- 
ment, took  up  the  necklace  and  left  the  store.  He 
wished  time  for  reflection. 

Once  outside,  he  felt  inclined  to  laugh,  and  said 
to  himself:  "The  fool!  Oh,  the  fool !  Had  I  only 
taken  him  at  his  word!  That  jeweler  cannot  dis- 
tinguish real  diamonds  from  the  imitation  article." 

A  few  minutes  later,  he  entered  another  store, 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  As  soon  as  the  proprietor 
glanced  at  the  necklace,  he  cried  out : 

"Ah,  parbleu!  I  know  it  well;  it  was  bought 
here." 

Monsieur  Lantin,  greatly  disturbed,  asked: 

"How  much  is  it  worth?" 

"Well,  I  sold  it  for  twenty  thousand  francs.  I 
am  willing  to  take  it  back  for  eighteen  thousand, 
when  you  inform  me,  according  to  our  legal  for- 
mality, how  it  came  to  be  in  your  possession." 

This  time,  Monsieur  Lantin  was  dumbfounded. 
He  replied: 

"But — examine  it  well.  Until  this  moment  1 
was  under  the  impression  that  it  was  imitation/'* 

The  jeweler  asked : 

"What  is  your  name,  sir?" 

"Lantin.  I  am  in  the  employ  of  the  Minister  or 
the  Interior.  I  live  at  number  sixteen  Rue  des  Mar- 
tyrs." 

The  merchant  looked  through  his  books,  found 


THE  FALSE  JEWELS  225 

the  entry,  and  said:  "That  necklace  was  sent  to 
Madame  Lantin's  address,  sixteen  Rue  des  Martyrs, 
July  20,  1876." 

The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  the 
widower  speechless  with  astonishment,  the  jeweler 
scenting  a  thief.  The  latter  broke  the  silence. 

"Will  you  leave  this  necklace  here  for  twenty- 
four  ho'jrs?"  said  he;  "I  will  give  you  a  receipt." 

Monsieur  Lantin  answered  hastily:  "Yes,  cer- 
tainly." Then,  putting  the  ticket  into  his  pocket,  he 
left  the  store. 

He  wandered  aimlessly  through  the  streets,  his 
mind  in  a  state  of  dreadful  confusion.  He  tried  to 
reason,  to  understand.  His  wife  could  not  afford 
to  purchase  such  a  costly  ornament.  Certainly  not. 
But,  then,  it  must  have  been  a  present ! — a  present ! 
— a  present  from  whom?  Why  was  it  given  to  her? 

He  stopped,  and  remained  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  street.  A  horrible  doubt  entered  his  mind. 
She?  Then,  all  the  other  jewels  must  have  been 
presents,  too !  The  earth  seemed  to  tremble  beneath 
him;  the  tree  before  him  to  be  falling;  he  threw 
up  his  arms,  and  fell  to  the  ground,  unconscious. 
He  recovered  his  senses  in  a  pharmacy  into  which 
the  passers-by  had  borne  him.  He  asked  to  be 
taken  home,  and,  when  he  reached  the  honse  he 
shut  himself  up  in  his  room  and  wept  umil  night- 
fall. Finally,  overcome  with  fatigue,  he  went  to 
hed,  and  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

The  sun  awoke  him  next  morning,  and  he  began 


226  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

to  dress  slowly  to  go  to  the  office.  It  was  hard 
to  work  after  such  an  experience.  He  sent  a  letter 
to  his  employer,  requesting  to  be  excused.  Then  he 
remembered  that  he  had  to  return  to  the  jeweler's. 
He  did  not  like  the  idea;  but  he  could  not  leave 
the  necklace  with  that  man.  He  dressed  and  went 
out. 

It  was  a  lovely  day;  a  clear  blue  sky  smiled  on 
the  busy  city.  Men  of  leisure  were  strolling  about 
with  their  hands  in  their  pockets. 

Monsieur  Lantin,  observing  them,  said  to  him- 
self:  "The  rich,  indeed,  are  happy.  With  money, 
it  is  possible  to  forget  even  the  deepest  sorrow.  One 
can  go  where  one  pleases,  and  in  travel  find  that 
distraction  which  is  the  surest  cure  for  grief.  Oh ! 
if  I  were  only  rich!" 

He  was  hungry,  but  his  pocket  was  empty.  He 
again  remembered  the  necklace.  Eighteen  thou- 
sand francs!  What  a  sum! 

He  soon  arrived  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  opposite 
the  jeweler's.  Eighteen  thousand  francs!  Twenty 
times  he  resolved  to  go  in,  but  shame  kept  him  back. 
He  was  hungry,  however,  very  hungry,  and  not  a 
sou  in  his  pocket.  He  decided  quickly,  ran  across 
the  street,  in  order  not  to  have  time  for  reflection, 
and  rushed  into  the  store. 

The  proprietor  immediately  came  forward,  and 
politely  offered  him  a  chair;  the  clerks  glanced  at 
him  knowingly. 

"I  have  made  inclines,  Monsieur  Lantin,"  said 


THE  FALSE  JEWELS  227 

the  jeweler,  "and  if  you  are  still  resolved  to  dis- 
pose of  the  gems,  I  am  ready  to  pay  you  the  price 
I  offered." 

"Certainly,  sir,"  stammered  Monsieur  Lantia. 

Whereupon  the  proprietor  took  from  a  drawer 
eighteen  large  bills,  counted  them  and  handed  them 
to  Monsieur  Lantin,  who  signed  a  receipt,  and,  with 
trembling  hand,  put  the  money  into  his  pocket. 

As  he  was  about  to  leave  the  store,  he  turned 
toward  the  merchant,  who  still  wore  the  same  know- 
ing smile,  and,  lowering  his  eyes,  said: 

"I  have — I  have  other  gems,  which  came  from 
the  same  source.  Will  you  buy  them,  also?" 

The  merchant  bowed:    "Certainly,  sir." 

Monsieur  Lantin  said  gravely:  "I  will  bring 
them  to  you."  An  hour  later  he  returned  with  the 
gems. 

The  large  diamond  earrings  were  worth  twenty 
thousand  francs ;  the  bracelets,  thirty-five  thousand  • 
the  rings,  sixteen  thousand;  a  set  of  emeralds  and 
sapphires,  fourteen  thousand ;  a  gold  chain  with  soh- 
taire  pendant,  forty  thousand — making  the  sum  of 
one  hundred  and  forty-three  thousand  francs. 

The  jeweler  remarked,  jestingly: 

"There  was  a  person  who  invested  all  her  sav- 
ings in  precious  stones." 

Monsieur  Lantin  replied,  seriously : 

*Jt  is  only  another  way  of  investing  one's 
money." 

That  day  he  lunched  at  Voisin's,  and  drank  wine 


228  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

worth  twenty  francs  a  bottle.  Then  he  hired  a  car- 
riage and  made  a  tour  of  the  Bois.  He  gazed  at 
the  various  turnouts  with  a  kind  of  disdain,  and 
could  hardly  refrain  from  crying  out  to  the  occu- 
pants : 

"  I,  too,  am  rich !  I  am  worth  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs." 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  his  employer.  He  drove 
up  to  the  bureau,  and  entered  gayly,  saying: 

"Sir,  I  have  come  to  resign  my  place.  I  have 
just  inherited  three  hundred  thousand  francs." 

He  shook  hands  with  his  former  colleagues,  and 
confided  to  them  some  of  his  projects  for  the  fu- 
ture ;  he  then  went  out  to  dine  at  the  Cafe  Anglais. 

He  seated  himself  beside  a  gentleman  of  aristo- 
cratic bearing;  and,  during  the  meal,  informed  the 
latter  confidentially  that  he  had  just  inherited  a  for- 
tune of  four  hundred  thousand  francs. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  not  bored  at 
the  theater,  and  he  spent  the  remainder  of  the  night 
in  a  gay  frolic. 

Six  months  afterward  he  married  again.  His 
second  wife  was  a  very  virtuous  woman ;  but  had  1 
violent  temper,  and  caused  him  much  sorrow. 


THAT  UMBRELLA! 

MADAME  OREILLE  was  economical;  she 
knew  the  value  of  a  centime,  and  had  a 
whole  storehouse  of  strict  principles  with 
regard  to  the  multiplication  of  money,  so  that  her 
cook  found  the  greatest  difficulty  in  making  what 
the  servants  call  their  market-penny,  and  her  hus- 
band was  hardly  allowed  any  pocket-money  at  ail. 
They  were  very  comfortably  off,  and  had  no  chil- 
dren; but  it  really  pained  Madame  Oreille  to  see 
money  spent ;  it  was  like  tearing  at  her  heartstrings 
when  she  had  to  take  any  of  those  nice  crown-pieces 
out  of  her  pocket;  and  whenever  she  had  to  spend 
anything,  no  matter  how  necessary  it  might  be,  she 
slept  badly  the  next  night. 

Oreille  was  continually  saying  to  his  wife: 

"You  really  might  be  more  liberal,  as  we  have 
no  children,  and  never  spend  our  income." 

"You  don't  know  what  may  happen,"  she  used 
to  reply.  "It  is  better  to  have  too  much  than  too 
little." 

She  was  small,  about  forty,  very  active,  rather 
hasty,  wrinkled,  very  neat  and  tidy,  and  had  a  short 
temper. 

229 


230  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Her  husband  frequently  complained  of  the  priva- 
tions she  made  him  endure;  some  of  them  were 
particularly  painful  to  him,  as  they  touched  his 
vanity. 

He  was  one  of  the  head  clerks  in  the  War 
Office,  and  stayed  on  there  only  in  obedience  to  his 
wife's  wish  to  increase  their  income,  which  they 
did  not  nearly  spend. 

For  two  years  he  had  always  come  to  the  office 
with  the  same  old  patched  umbrella,  to  the  great 
amusement  of  his  fellow  clerks.  At  last  he  got 
tired  of  their  jokes,  and  insisted  upon  his  wife's 
buying  him  a  new  one.  She  bought  one  for  eight 
francs  and  a  half,  one  of  those  cheap  articles  which 
large  houses  sell  as  an  advertisement.  When  the 
men  in  the  office  saw  the  article,  which  was  being 
sold  in  Paris  by  the  thousand,  they  resumed  their 
jokes,  and  Oreille  had  a  dreadful  time  of  it.  They 
even  made  a  song  about  it,  which  he  heard  from 
morning  till  night  all  over  the  immense  building. 

Oreille  was  very  angry,  and  peremptorily  told  his 
wife  to  get  him  a  new  one,  a  good  silk  one,  for 
twenty  francs,  and  to  bring  him  the  bill,  so  that  he 
might  see  that  it  was  all  right. 

She  bought  him  one  for  eighteen  francs,  and 
said,  getting  red  with  anger  as  she  gave  it  to  him : 

"This  will  last  you  five  years  at  least." 

Oreille  felt  quite  triumphant,  and  received  a 
small  ovation  when  he  appeared  at  the  office  with 
his  new  acquisition. 


THAT  UMBRELLA!  231 

When  he  went  home  in  the  evening  his  wife  said 
to  him,  looking  at  the  umbrella  uneasily: 

"You  should  not  leave  it  fastened  up  with  the 
elastic;  it  will  be  likely  to  cut  the  silk.  You  must 
take  care  of  it,  for  I  shall  not  buy  you  a  new  one  in 
a  hurry." 

She  took  it,  unfastened  it,  and  then  stood  dumb- 
founded with  astonishment  and  rage;  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  silk  there  was  a  hole  as  big  as  a  six- 
penny-piece; it  had  been  made  with  the  end  of  a 
cigar. 

"What  is  that?"  she  screamed. 

Her  husband  replied  quietly,  without  looking  at  it : 

"What  is  it?    What  do  you  mean?" 

She  was  choking  with  rage,  and  could  hardly 
get  out  a  word. 

"You — you — have — burned — your  new  umbrella! 
Why — you  must  be — mad!  Do  you  wish  to  ruin 
us  outright?" 

He  turned  round,  and  felt  that  he  was  growing 
pale. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?" 

"I  say  that  you  have  burned  your  umbrella.  Just 
look  here!" 

And  rushing  at  him,  as  if  she  were  going  to  beat 
him,  she  violently  thrust  the  little  circular  burned 
hole  under  his  nose. 

He  was  utterly  struck  dumb  at  the  sight  of  it 
and  could  only  stammer  out : 

"What — what  is  it?    How  should  I  know?  I  have 


232  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

done  nothing,  I  will  swear.  I  don't  know  what  is 
the  matter  with  the  umbrella." 

"You  have  been  playing  tricks  with  it  at  the 
office;  you  have  been  playing  the  fool  and  opening 
it,  to  show  it  off !"  she  screamed. 

"I  opened  it  only  once,  to  let  them  see  what  a  nice 
one  it  was ;  that  is  all,  I  swear." 

But  she  shook  with  rage,  and  got  up  one  of  those 
conjugal  scenes  which  make  a  peaceable  man  dread 
the  domestic  hearth  more  than  a  battlefield  where 
bullets  are  flying. 

She  mended  it  with  a  piece  of  silk  cut  out  of  the 
old  umbrella,  which  was  of  a  different  color,  and  the 
next  day  Oreille  went  off  very  humbly  with  the 
mended  article  in  his  hand.  He  put  it  into  a  cup- 
board, and  dismissed  it  from  his  thoughts. 

But  he  had  scarcely  got  home  that  evening  wher 
his  wife  took  the  umbrella  from  him,  opened  it,  and 
nearly  had  a  fit  when  she  saw  what  had  befallen  it, 
for  the  disaster  was  irreparable.  It  was  covered 
with  small  holes  which  evidently  proceeded  froir. 
burns,  just  as  if  some  erne  had  emptied  the  ashes 
from  a  lighted  pipe  on  to  it.  It  was  ruined  ut- 
terly. 

She  looked  at  it  without  a  word,  too  enraged  to 
be  able  to  say  anything.  He  also,  when  he  saw  the 
damage,  remained  dumbfounded,  in  a  state  of 
frightened  consternation. 

They  looked  at  each  other,  then  he  looked  at  the 
floor;  and  the  next  moment  she  threw  the  useless 


THAT  UMBRELLA !  233 

article  at  his  head,  screaming  out  in  a  transport  of 
the  most  violent  rage,  for  she  had  recovered  her 
voice  by  that  time: 

"  Oh !  you  brute !  you  brute !  You  did  it  on  pur- 
pose, but  I  will  pay  you  out  for  it;  you  shall  not 
have  another." 

And  then  the  scene  began  again,  and  after  the 
storm  had  raged  for  an  hour,  he  at  last  was  en- 
abled to  explain  himself.  He  declared  that  he  could 
not  understand  it  at  all,  and  that  it  could  only  pro- 
ceed from  malice  or  from  vengeance. 

A  ring  at  the  bell  saved  him;  it  was  a  friend 
whom  they  were  expecting  to  dinner. 

Madame  Oreille  stated  the  case  to  him.  As  for 
buying  a  new  umbrella,  that  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion; her  husband  should  not  have  another. 

The  friend  very  sensibly  said  that  in  that  case 
his  clothes  would  be  spoiled,  and  they  were  certainly 
worth  more  than  the  umbrella.  But  the  little 
woman,  who  was  still  in  a  rage,  replied : 

"Very  well,  then,  when  it  rains  he  may  have  the 
kitchen  umbrella,  for  I  will  not  give  him  a  new  silk 
one." 

Oreille  utterly  rebelled  at  such  an  idea. 

"All  right,"  he  said ;  "then  I  shall  resign  my  post. 
I  am  not  going  to  the  office  with  the  kitchen  um- 
brella." 

The  friend  interposed: 

"Have  this  one  re-covered ;  it  will  not  cost  much." 

But  Madame  Oreille,  being  still  in  a  rage,  said: 

Vol.  i— in 


234  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"It  will  cost  at  least  eight  francs  to  re-cover  it 
Eight  and  eighteen  are  twenty-six.  Just  fancy, 
twenty-six  f  ranrs  for  an  umbrella !  It  is  utter  mad- 
ness !" 

The  friend,  who  was  only  a  poor  man  of  the  mid- 
dle classes,  had  an  inspiration : 

"Make  your  fire  insurance  pay  for  it.  The  com- 
panies pay  for  all  i  rticles  that  are  burned,  as  long  as 
the  damage  has  been  done  in  your  own  house." 

On  hearing  this  advice  the  little  woman  calmed 
down  immediately,  and  then,  after  a  moment's  re- 
flection, she  said  to  her  husband : 

"To-morrow,  before  going  to  your  office,  you  will 
go  to  the  Maternelle  Insurance  Company,  show 
them  the  state  your  umbrella  is  in,  and  make  them 
pay  for  the  damage.  " 

M.  Oreille  fairly  jumped,  he  was  so  startled  at 
the  proposal. 

"I  would  not  do  it  for  my  life!  It  is  eighteen 
francs  lost,  that  is  all.  It  would  not  ruin  us." 

The  next  morning  he  took  a  walking-stick  when 
he  went  out,  and,  luckily,  it  was  a  fine  day. 

Left  at  home  Madame  Oreille  could  not  get  over 
the  loss  of  her  eighteen  francs  by  any  means.  She 
had  put  the  umbrella  on  the  dining-room  table,  and 
she  looked  at  it  without  being  able  to  come  to  any 
determination. 

Every  moment  she  thought  of  the  insurance  com- 
pany, but  she  did  not  dare  to  encounter  the  quiz- 
zical looks  of  the  gentlemen  who  might  receive  her, 


THAT  UMBRELLA  I  235 

for  she  was  very  timid  before  people,  blushed  at  a 
mere  nothing,  and  was  embarrassed  when  she  had 
to  speak  to  strangers. 

But  the  regret  at  the  loss  of  the  eighteen  francs 
still  pained  her.  She  tried  not  to  think  of  it  any 
more,  and  yet  every  moment  the  recollection  of  the 
loss  struck  her  painfully.  What  was  she  to  do? 
Time  went  on,  and  she  could  not  decide;  but  sud- 
denly, like  all  cowards,  on  making  a  resolve  she 
became  determined. 

"I  will  go,  and  we  shall  see  what  will  happen." 

But  first  of  all  she  was  obliged  to  prepare  the 
umbrella  so  that  the  disaster  might  be  complete,  and 
the  reason  of  it  quite  evident.  She  took  a  matcix 
from  the  mantelpiece,  and  between  the  ribs  she 
burned  a  hole  as  big  as  the  palm  of  her  hand ;  then 
she  delicately  rolled  it  up,  fastened  it  with  the 
elastic  band,  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  went 
quickly  toward  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  where  the  insur- 
ance office  was. 

But  the  nearer  she  got,  che  slower  she  walked. 
What  was  she  going  to  say,  and  what  reply  would 
she  get? 

She  looked  at  the  numbers  of  the  houses;  there 
were  still  twenty-eight.  That  was  all  right,  so  she 
had  time  to  consider,  and  she  walked  slower  and 
slower.  Suddenly  she  saw  a  door  on  which  was  a 
large  brass  plate  with  "La  Maternelle  Fire  Insur- 
ance Office"  engraved  on  it.  Already !  She  waited 
a  moment,  for  she  felt  nervou«  and  almost  ashamed; 


236  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

then  she  walked  past,  came  back,  walked  past  again, 
and  came  back  again. 

At  last  she  said  to  herself : 

"I  must  go  in,  however,  so  I  may  as  well  do  it 
sooner  as  later." 

She  could  not  help  noticing,  however,  how  her 
heart  beat  as  she  entered. 

She  went  into  an  enormous  room  with  grated 
wicket  openings  all  round,  and  a  man  behind  each 
of  them,  and  as  a  gentleman  carrying  a  handful 
of  paper  passed  her,  she  stopped  him  and  said 
timidly : 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur,  but  can  you  tell 
me  where  I  must  apply  for  payment  for  anything 
that  has  been  accidentally  burned?" 

He  replied  in  a  sonorous  voice: 

"The  first  door  on  the  left;  that  is  the  depart- 
ment you  want" 

This  frightened  her  still  more,  and  she  felt  in- 
clined to  run  away,  to  put  in  no  claim,  to  sacrifice 
her  eighteen  francs.  But  the  idea  of  that  sum  re- 
vived her  courage,  and  she  went  upstairs,  out  of 
breath,  stopping  at  almost  every  other  step. 

She  knocked  at  a  door  which  she  saw  on  the  first 
landing,  and  a  clear  voice  said,  in  answer : 

"Come  in!" 

She  obeyed  mechanically,  and  found  herself  in 
a  large  room  where  three  solemn  gentlemen,  all  ivith 
a  decoration  in  their  buttonholes,  were  talking. 

One  of  them  said :  "What  do  you  want,  Madame?" 


THAT  UMBRELLA !  237 

She  could  hardly  get  out  her  words,  but  stam- 
mered: "I  have  come — I  have  come  on  account  of 
an  accident,  something " 

He  very  politely  pointed  out  a  seat  to  her. 

"If  you  will  kindly  sit  down  I  will  attend  to  you 
in  a  moment." 

And,  returning  to  the  other  two,  he  continued: 

"The  company,  gentlemen,  does  not  consider  that 
it  is  under  any  obligation  to  you  for  more  than  four 
hundred  thousand  francs,  and  we  can  pay  no  atten- 
tion to  your  claim  to  the  further  sum  of  a  hundred 
thousand,  which  you  wish  to  make  us  pay.  Besides 
that,  the  surveyor's  valuation " 

One  of  the  others  interrupted  him : 

"That  is  enough,  Monsieur,  the  law  courts  will 
decide  between  us,  and  we  have  nothing  further  to 
do  than  to  take  our  leave."  And  they  went  out  after 
mutual  ceremonious  bows. 

Oh !  if  she  could  only  have  gone  away  with  them, 
how  gladly  she  would  have  done  it ;  she  would  have 
run  away  and  given  up  everything.  But  it  was 
too  late,  for  the  gentleman  came  back,  and  said, 
bowing : 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Madame?" 

She  could  hardly  speak,  but  at  last  she  managed 
to  say: 

"I  have  come — for  this." 

The  manager  looked  at  the  object  which  she  held 
out  to  him  in  mute  astonishment. 

With  trembling   fingers  she  tried  to  undo  the 


238  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

elastic,  and  succeeding,  after  several  attempts,  she 
hastily  opened  the  damaged  remains  of  the  um- 
brella. 

"It  looks  to  me  to  be  in  a  very  bad  state  of 
health,"  he  said  compassionately. 

"It  cost  me  twenty  francs,"  she  said,  with  some 
hesitation. 

He  seemed  astonished.  "Really!  As  much  as 
that?" 

"Yes,  it  was  a  capital  article,  and  I  wanted  you 
to  see  the  condition  it  is  in.  " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  see;  very  well.  But  I  really  do  not 
understand  what  it  can  have  to  do  with  me." 

She  began  to  feel  uncomfortable;  perhaps  this 
company  did  not  pay  for  such  small  articles,  and 
she  said: 

"But— it  is  burned." 

He  could  not  deny  it. 

"I  see  that  very  well,"  he  replied. 

She  remained  open-mouthed,  not  knowing  what 
to  say  next ;  then,  suddenly  recollecting  that  she  had 
left  out  the  main  thing,  she  said  hastily: 

"I  am  Madame  Oreille;  we  are  insured  in  La 
Maternelle,  and  I  have  come  to  claim  the  value  of 
this  damage. 

"I  only  want  you  to  have  it  re-covered,"  she 
added  quickly,  fearing  a  positive  refusal. 

The  manager  was  rather  embarrassed,  and  said: 

"But,  really,  Madame,  we  do  not  sell  umbrel- 
las; we  cannot  undertake  that  kind  of  repairs." 


THAT  UMBRELLA !  239 

The  little  woman  felt  her  courage  reviving;  she 
was  not  going  to  give  up  without  a  struggle;  she 
was  not  even  afraid  any  more,  and  said : 

"I  only  want  you  to  pay  me  the  cost  of  repair- 
ing it;  I  can  easily  get  it  done  myself." 

The  gentleman  seemed  rather  confused. 

"Really,  Madame,  it  is  such  a  very  small  matter! 
We  are  never  asked  to  give  compensation  for  such 
trivial  losses.  You  must  allow  that  we  cannot  make 
good  pocket-handkerchiefs,  gloves,  brooms,  slippers, 
all  the  small  articles  which  are  every  day  exposed  to 
the  chances  of  being  burned." 

She  got  red  in  the  face,  and  felt  inclined  to  fly 
into  a  rage. 

"But,  Monsieur,  last  December  one  of  our  chim- 
neys caught  fire,  and  caused  at  least  five  hundred 
francs'  damage ;  my  husband  made  no  claim  on  the 
company,  and  so  it  is  only  just  that  it  should  pay 
for  my  umbrella  now." 

The  manager,  guessing  that  she  was  telling  a  lie, 
said,  with  a  smile : 

"You  must  acknowledge,  Madame,  that  it  is  sur- 
prising that  Monsieur  Oreille  should  have  asked  no 
compensation  for  damages  amounting  to  five  hun- 
dred francs,  and  should  now  claim  five  or  six  francs 
for  mending  an  umbrella." 

She  was  not  the  least  put  out,  and  replied : 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur,  the  five  hundred 
francs  affected  Monsieur  Oreille's  pocket ;  this  dam- 
age, amounting  to  eighteen  francs,  concerns  Ma- 


240  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

dame  Oreille's  pocket,  which  is  a  totally  different 
matter." 

As  he  saw  that  he  had  no  chance  of  getting  rid 
of  her,  and  that  he  would  only  be  wasting  his  time, 
he  said  resignedly: 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  me  how  the  damage  was 
done?" 

She  felt  that  she  had  won  the  victory,  and  said: 

"This  is  how  it  happened,  Monsieur:  In  our 
hall  there  is  a  bronze  stick  and  umbrella  stand,  and 
the  other  day,  when  I  came  in,  I  put  my  umbrella 
into  it.  I  must  tell  you  that  just  above  there  is  a 
shelf  for  the  candlesticks  and  matches.  I  took  three 
or  four  matches,  and  struck  one,  but  it  missed  fire, 
so  I  struck  another,  which  ignited,  but  went  out  im- 
mediately, and  a  third  did  the  same." 

The  manager  interrupted  her  to  make  a  joke. 

"I  suppose  they  were  government  matches, 
then?" 

She  did  not  understand  him,  and  continued : 

"Very  likely.  At  any  rate,  the  fourth  caught 
fire,  and  I  lighted  my  candle,  and  went  to  my  room 
to  go  to  bed ;  but  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  fancied 
that  I  smelled  something  burning,  and  I  have  always 
been  terribly  afraid  of  fire.  If  ever  we  have  an  ac- 
cident it  will  not  be  my  fault,  I  assure  you.  I  am 
terribly  nervous  since  our  chimney  was  on  fire,  as 
I  told  you;  so  I  got  up,  and  hunted  about  every- 
where, sniffing  like  a  dog  after  game,  and  at  last  I 
noticed  that  my  umbrella  was  burning.  Most  likely 


THAT  UMBRELLA!  241 

a  match  had  fallen  between  the  folds  and  burned 
it.  You  can  see  how  it  has  damaged  it." 

The  manager  had  taken  his  cue,  and  asked  her: 

"What  do  you  estimate  the  damage  at?" 

She  did  not  know  what  to  say,  as  she  was  not 
certain  what  amount  to  put  on  it,  but  she  replied : 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  get  it  done  yourself. 
I  will  leave  it  to  you." 

He,  however,  naturally  refused. 

"No,  Madame,  I  cannot  do  that.  Tell  me  the 
amount  of  your  claim,  that  is  all  I  want  to  know." 

"Well! — I  think  that Look  here,  Monsieur, 

I  do  not  want  to  make  any  money  out  of  you,  so  I 
will  tell  you  what  we  will  do.  I  will  take  my  um- 
brella to  the  maker,  who  will  re-cover  it  in  good, 
durable  silk,  and  I  will  bring  the  bill  to  you.  Will 
that  suit  you,  Monsieur?" 

"Perfectly,  Madame;  we  will  settle  it  so.  Here 
is  a  note  for  the  cashier,  who  will  repay  you  what- 
ever it  costs  you." 

He  gave  a  paper  to  Madame  Oreille,  who  took 
it,  got  up  and  went  out,  thanking  him,  for  she 
was  in  haste  to  go  lest  he  should  change  his  mind. 

She  went  briskly  through  the  streets,  looking 
out  for  a  really  good  umbrella-maker,  and  when  she 
found  a  shop  which  appeared  to  be  a  first-class  one, 
she  went  in,  and  said,  confidently : 

"I  want  this  umbrella  re-covered  in  silk,  a  good 
silk.  Use  the  very  best  and  strongest  you  have;  I 
don't  mind  what  it  costs." 


THE  CLOCK 

MY  old  friend  Dr.  Bonnet  (one  may  have 
friends  older  than  oneself)  had  often  in- 
vited me  to  spend  some  time  with  him  at 
Riom,  and  as  I  did  not  know  Auvergne,  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  visit  him  in  the  summer  of  1876. 

I  arrived  by  the  morning  train,  and  the  first  per- 
son I  saw  on  the  platform  was  the  doctor.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  gray  suit,  and  wore  a  soft,  black,  wide- 
brimmed,  high-crowned  felt  hat,  narrow  at  the  top 
which  hardly  any  one  except  an  Auvergnat  would 
wear,  and  which  reminded  me  of  a  charcoal-burner. 
Dressed  like  that,  the  doctor  had  the  appearance  of 
an  old  young  man,  with  his  spare  body  under  his 
thin  coat,  and  his  large  head  of  white  hair. 

He  embraced  me  with  that  evident  pleasure 
which  country  people  feel  on  meeting  long-ex- 
pected friends,  and,  stretching  out  his  arm,  he  said 
proudly : 

"This  is  Auvergne!"  I  saw  nothing  before  me 
but  a  range  of  mountains,  whose  summits,  which 
resembled  truncated  cones,  must  have  been  extinct 
volcanoes. 

242 


THE  CLOCK  243 

Pointing  to  the  name  of  the  station,  he  said: 

"Riom,  the  fatherland  of  magistrates,  the  pride 
of  the  magistracy,  which  ought  rather  to  be  the 
fatherland  of  doctors." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"Why?"  he  replied  with  a  laugh.  "If  you  trans- 
pose the  letters,  you  have  the  Latin  word  mori, 
to  die.  That  is  the  reason  I  settled  here,  my 
young  friend." 

Delighted  at  his  own  joke,  he  carried  me  off, 
rubbing  his  hands. 

As  soon  as  I  had  taken  a  cup  of  coffee,  he  took 
me  to  see  the  town.  I  admired  the  druggist's  house, 
and  other  noted  houses,  which  were  all  black,  hut 
as  pretty  as  bric-a-brac,  with  their  sculptured  stone 
fagades.  I  admired  the  statue  of  the  Virgin,  pa- 
troness of  butchers,  and  he  told  me  an  amusing 
story  about  this,  which  I  will  relate  some  other 
time.  Then  he  said: 

"  I  must  beg  you  to  excuse  me  for  a  few  minutes 
while  I  go  and  see  a  patient,  and  then  I  will  take 
you  to  Chatel-Guyon,  so  as  to  show  you  the  general 
aspect  of  the  town,  and  all  the  mountain  chain  of 
the  Puy-de-D6me,  before  luncheon.  You  can  wait 
for  me  outside;  I  shall  only  go  upstairs,  and  come 
down  immediately." 

He  left  me  outside  one  of  those  old,  gloomy,  si- 
lent, melancholy  houses  which  we  see  in  the  prov- 
inces, and  this  one  appeared  to  look  unusually 
sinister.  I  soon  discovered  the  reason.  The  large 


244  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

windows  on  the  first  floor  were  half  boarded  up 
with  wooden  shutters.  The  upper  part  of  them 
alone  could  be  opened,  as  if  one  had  wished  to  pre- 
vent people  locked  up  in  that  huge  stone  trunk 
from  looking  into  the  street. 

When  the  doctor  came  down  again,  I  told  him 
how  it  had  struck  me,  and  he  replied: 

"You  are  quite  right;  the  poor  creature  who  is 
Hving  there  must  never  see  what  is  going  on  out- 
side. She  is  a  madwoman,  or  rather  an  idiot,  what 
you  Normans  would  call  a  Niente.  It  is  a  miserable 
story,  but  a  very  singular  pathological  case  at  the 
same  time.  Shall  I  tell  you?" 

I  asked  him  to  do  so,  and  he  continued : 

"Twenty  years  ago  the  owners  of  this  house, 
who  were  my  patients,  had  a  daughter  who  was  like 
all  other  girls,  but  I  soon  discovered  that  while  her 
body  became  admirably  developed,  her  intellect  re- 
mained stationary. 

"She  began  to  walk  very  early,  but  she  could 
not  talk.  At  first  I  thought  she  was  deaf,  but  I 
soon  discovered  that,  although  she  heard  perfectly, 
she  did  not  understand  anything  that  was  said  to 
her.  Violent  noises  frightened  her,  without  her 
understanding  how  they  were  caused. 

"She  grew  up  into  a  superb  woman,  but  she  was 
dumb,  from  absolute  want  of  intellect.  I  tried 
all  means  to  introduce  a  gleam  of  intelligence  into 
her  brain,  but  without  success.  I  thought  I  no- 
ticed that  she  knew  her  nurse,  though  as  soon  as 


THE  CLOCK  245 

she  was  weaned,  she  failed  to  recognize  her  mother. 
She  never  could  pronounce  that  word  which  is  the 
first  that  children  utter  and  the  last  that  soldiers 
murmur  when  they  are  dying  on  the  field  of  battle. 
She  sometimes  tried  to  talk,  but  she  produced  only 
incoherent  sounds. 

"When  the  weather  was  fine,  she  laughed  con- 
tinually, and  emitted  low  cries  which  were  like  the 
twittering  of  birds.  When  it  rained  she  cried  and 
moaned  in  a  mournful,  terrifying  manner,  which 
sounded  like  the  howling  of  a  dog  when  a  death 
occurs  in  a  house. 

"She  was  fond  of  rolling  on  the  grass,  as  young 
animals  do,  and  of  running  about  madly,  and  she 
used  to  clap  her  hands  every  morning  when  the 
sun  shone  into  her  room,  and  would  jump  out  of 
bed  and  insist,  by  signs,  on  being  dressed  as  quickly 
as  possible,  so  that  she  might  get  out. 

"She  did  not  appear  to  distinguish  between  her 
mother  and  her  nurse,  or  between  her  father  and 
me,  or  between  the  coachman  and  the  cook.  I 
particularly  liked  her  parents,  who  were  very  un- 
happy on  her  account,  and  I  went  to  see  them 
nearly  every  day.  I  dined  with  them  frequently, 
which  enabled  me  to  remark  that  Bertha  (they 
had  named  her  Bertha)  seemed  to  recognize  the 
various  dishes,  and  to  prefer  some  to  others.  At 
that  time  she  was  twelve  years  old,  but  as  fully 
formed  in  figure  as  a  girl  of  eighteen,  and  taller 
than  I  was.  Then  the  idea  struck  me  of  develop- 


246  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ing  her  greediness,  and  by  this  means  trying  to  pro- 
duce some  slight  powers  of  distinguishing  in  her 
mind,  and  to  force  her,  by  the  diversity  of  flavors, 
if  not  to  reason,  at  least  to  arrive  at  instinctive 
distinctions,  which  of  themselves  would  constitute  a 
kind  of  process  that  was  necessary  to  thought. 
Afterward,  by  appealing  to  her  passions,  and  care- 
fully making  use  of  those  which  could  serve  us,  we 
might  hope  to  obtain  a  reaction  on  her  intellect, 
and  by  degrees  increase  the  insensible  action  of 
her  brain. 

"One  day  I  put  two  plates  before  her,  one  of 
soup,  and  the  other  of  very  sweet  vanilla  cream.  I 
made  her  taste  each  of  them  successively,  and  then 
I  let  her  choose  for  herself,  and  she  ate  the  plate 
of  cream.  In  a  short  time  I  made  her  very  greedy, 
so  greedy  that  it  appeared  as  if  her  only  idea  was 
the  desire  for  eating.  She  easily  recognized  the 
various  dishes,  stretched  out  her  hands  toward  those 
that  she  liked,  and  grasped  them  eagerly,  and  she 
used  to  cry  when  they  were  taken  from  her.  Then 
I  thought  I  would  try  to  teach  her  to  come  to 
the  dining-room  when  the  dinner-bell  rang.  It 
took  a  long  time,  but  I  succeeded  at  last.  In  her 
vacant  intellect  there  was  a  fixed  correlation  be- 
tween the  sound  and  her  taste,  a  correspondence 
between  two  senses,  an  appeal  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  consequently  a  sort  of  connection  of 
ideas  (if  one  can  call  that  kind  of  instinctive  hyphen 
between  two  organic  functions  an  idea)  and  so  I 


THE  CLOCK  247 

carried  my  experiments  further,  and  taught  her, 
with  much  difficulty,  to  recognize  meal-times  by  the 
clock. 

"For  a  long  time  it  was  impossible  to  attract 
her  attention  to  the  hands,  but  I  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing her  remark  the  clockwork  and  the  striking 
apparatus.  The  means  I  employed  were  very  sim- 
ple; I  asked  them  not  to  have  the  bell  rung  for 
luncheon,  and  everybody  got  up  and  went  into  the 
dining-room  when  the  little  brass  hammer  struck 
twelve  o'clock,  but  I  found  great  difficulty  in  teach- 
ing her  to  count  the  strokes.  She  ran  to  the  door 
each  time  she  heard  the  clock  strike,  but  by  degrees 
she  learned  that  the  strokes  had  not  all  the  same 
value  as  regarded  meals,  and  she  frequently  fixed 
her  eyes,  guided  by  her  ears,  on  the  dial. 

"When  I  noticed  that  I  took  care  every  day  at 
twelve  and  at  six  o'clock  to  place  my  fingers  on  the 
figures  twelve  and  six,  as  soon  as  the  moment  she 
was  waiting  for  had  arrived,  and  I  soon  noticed  that 
she  attentively  followed  the  motion  of  the  small 
brass  hands,  which  I  had  often  turned  in  her  pres- 
ence. 

"She  had  understood!  Perhaps  I  ought  rather 
to  say  she  had  grasped  the  idea.  I  had  succeeded 
in  getting  the  knowledge,  or,  rather,  the  sensa- 
tion, of  time  into  her,  just  as  is  the  case  with 
carp,  which  certainly  have  no  clocks,  when  they  are 
fed  every  day  exactly  at  the  same  time. 

"When  I  had  obtained  that  result  all  the  clocks 


248  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

and  watches  in  the  house  occupied  her  attention 
almost  exclusively.  She  spent  her  time  in  looking 
at  them,  in  listening  to  them,  and  in  waiting  for 
meal-time,  and  once  something  very  funny  hap- 
pened. The  striking  apparatus  of  a  pretty  little 
Louis  XVI  clock  that  hung  at  the  head  of  her  bed 
having  got  out  of  order,  she  noticed  it.  She  sat  for 
twenty  minutes  with  her  eyes  on  the  hands,  wait- 
ing for  it  to  strike  ten,  but  when  the  hand  passed 
the  figure  she  was  astonished  at  not  hearing  any- 
thing; so  stupefied  was  she,  indeed,  that  she  sat 
down,  no  doubt  overwhelmed  by  a  feeling  of  violent 
emotion  such  as  attacks  us  in  the  face  of  some  ter- 
rible catastrophe.  And  she  had  the  wonderful  pa- 
tience to  wait  until  eleven  o'clock  in  order  to  see 
what  would  happen,  and  as  she  then  heard  noth- 
ing, she  was  suddenly  either  seized  with  a  wild 
fit  of  rage  at  having  been  deceived  and  imposed 
upon  by  appearances,  or  else  overcome  by  that  fear 
which  a  frightened  creature  feels  at  some  terri- 
ble mystery,  and  by  the  furious  impatience  of  a 
passionate  individual  who  meets  with  an  obstacle; 
she  took  up  the  tongs  from  the  fireplace  and  struck 
the  clock  so  violently  that  she  broke  it  to  pieces. 

"It  was  evident,  therefore,  that  her  brain  did 
act  and  calculate,  obscurely  it  is  true,  and  within 
very  restricted  limits,  for  I  could  never  succeed  in 
making  her  distinguish  persons  as  she  distinguished 
the  time;  and  to  stir  her  intellect  it  was  necessary 
to  appeal  to  her  passions,  in  the  material  sense  of 


THE  CLOCK  249 

the  word,  and  we  soon  had  another,  and  alas!  a 
very  terrible,  proof  of  this! 

"She  had  grown  up  into  a  splendid  girl,  a  per- 
fect type  of  a  race,  a  sort  of  lovely  and  stupid 
Venus.  She  was  sixteen,  and  I  have  rarely  seen 
such  perfection  of  form,  such  suppleness  and  such 
regular  features.  I  said  she  was  a  Venus;  yes,  a 
fair,  stout,  vigorous  Venus,  with  large,  bright,  va- 
cant eyes  which  were  as  blue  as  the  flowers  of  the 
flax  plant ;  she  had  a  large  mouth  with  full  lips,  the 
mouth  of  a  glutton,  of  a  sensualist,  a  mouth  made 
for  kisses.  One  morning  her  father  came  into 
my  consulting-room  with  a  strange  look  on  his  face, 
and,  sitting  down  without  even  replying  to  my  greet- 
ing, he  said : 

"  'I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  a  very  serious 
matter.  Would  it  be  possible — would  it  be  possible 
for  Bertha  to  marry?' 

"  'Bertha  to  marry !  Why,  it  is  quite  impossi- 
ble!' 

"  'Yes,  I  know,  I  know,'  he  replied  very  sadly. 
"  'But  reflect,  doctor.  Don't  you  think — perhaps — 
we  hoped — if  she  had  children — it  would  be  a  great 
shock  to  her,  but  a  great  happiness,  and — who 
knows  whether  maternity  might  not  rouse  her  in- 
tellect/ 

"I  was  in  a  state  of  great  perplexity.  He  was 
right,  and  it  was  possible  that  such  a  new  situa- 
tion, and  that  wonderful  instinct  of  maternity  which 
beats  in  the  hearts  of  the  lower  animals,  as  it  does 

Vol.  1—17 


250  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

in  the  heart  of  a  woman,  which  makes  the  hen  fly 
at  a  dog's  jaw  to  defend  her  chickens,  might  bring 
about  a  revolution,  an  utter  change  in  her  vacant 
mind,  and  set  the  motionless  mechanism  of  her 
thoughts  into  movement.  And  then,  moreover,  I 
immediately  remembered  a  personal  instance.  Some 
years  previously  I  had  possessed  a  spaniel  bitch 
that  was  so  stupid  that  I  could  do  nothing  with  her, 
but  when  she  had  had  puppies  she  became,  if  not 
exactly  intelligent,  yet  almost  like  many  other  dogs 
that  have  not  been  thoroughly  broken. 

"As  soon  as  I  foresaw  the  possibility  of  this  the 
wish  to  get  Bertha  married  grew  in  me,  not  so 
much  out  of  friendship  for  her  and  her  poor  par- 
ents as  from  scientific  curiosity.  What  would  hap- 
pen? It  was  a  singular  problem,  and  I  said  to  her 
father : 

"  'Perhaps  you  are  right.  You  might  make  the 
attempt  But  you  will  never  find  a  man  to  con- 
sent to  marry  her/ 

"  'I  have  found  somebody/  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"I  was  dumbfounded,  and  said:  'Somebody 
really  suitable?  Some  one  of  your  own  rank  and 
position  in  society?' 

*'  'Decidedly,'  he  replied. 

"  'Oh!    And  may  I  ask  his  name?' 

"  'I  came  on  purpose  to  tell  you,  and  to  consult 
you.  It  is  Monsieur  Gaston  du  Boys  de  Lucelles.' 

"I  felt  inclined  to  exclaim:     'What  a  wretch!1 


THE  CLOCK  251 

but  I  held  my  tongue,  and  after  a  short  silence,  I 
said: 

"  'Oh !    Very  good.    I  see  nothing  against  it.' 

"The  poor  man  shook  me  heartily  by  the  hand. 

"  'She  is  to  be  married  next  month/  he  said. 

"Monsieur  Gaston  du  Boys  de  Lucelles  was  a 
scapegrace  of  good  family,  who,  after  spending 
all  that  he  had  inherited  from  his  father,  and  in- 
curring debts  by  all  kinds  of  doubtful  means,  had 
been  trying  to  discover  some  other  way  of  obtain- 
ing money,  and  he  had  discovered  this  method. 
He  was  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  and  in  capital 
health,  but  fast;  one  of  that  odious  race  of  pro- 
vincial fast  men,  and  he  appeared  to  me  to  be  a 
sufficient  sort  of  husband,  who  could  be  got  rid 
of  later  by  making  him  an  allowance.  He  came  to 
the  house  to  pay  his  addresses  and  to  strut  about  be- 
fore the  idiot  girl,  who  seemed  to  please  him.  He 
brought  her  flowers,  kissed  her  hands,  sat  at  her 
feet,  and  looked  at  her  with  affectionate  eyes;  but 
she  took  no  notice  of  any  of  his  attentions,  and 
did  not  make  any  distinction  between  him  and  the 
other  persons  who  were  about  her. 

"  However,  the  marriage  took  place,  and  you  may 
guess  how  my  curiosity  was  aroused.  I  went  to 
see  Bertha  the  next  day  to  discover  if  possible,  from 
her  looks  whether  any  feelings  had  been  awakened 
in  her ;  but  I  found  her  just  the  same  that  she  was 
every  day,  wholly  taken  up  with  the  clock  and  din- 
ner, while  he,  on  the  contrary,  appeared  really  in 


252  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

love,  and  tried  to  rouse  his  wife's  spirits  and  affec- 
tion by  little  endearments  and  such  caresses  as  one 
bestows  on  a  kitten.  He  could  think  of  nothing 
better. 

"I  called  upon  the  married  couple  pretty  fre- 
quently, and  I  soon  perceived  that  the  young 
woman  knew  her  husband,  and  gave  him  those 
eager  looks  which  she  had  hitherto  only  bestowed 
on  sweet  dishes. 

She  followed  his  movements,  knew  his  step  on 
the  stairs  or  in  the  neighboring  rooms,  clapped 
her  hands  when  he  came  in,  and  her  face  was 
changed  and  brightened  by  the  flames  of  profound 
happiness  and  of  desire. 

"She  loved  him  with  her  whole  body  and  with 
all  her  soul,  to  the  very  depths  of  her  poor,  weak 
spirit,  and  with  all  her  heart,  that  poor  heart  of 
some  grateful  animal.  It  was  really  a  delightful 
and  innocent  picture  of  simple  passion,  of  carnal 
and  yet  modest  passion,  such  as  nature  had  im- 
planted in  mankind  before  man  had  complicated 
and  disfigured  it  by  all  the  various  shades  of  senti- 
ment. But  he  soon  grew  tired  of  this  ardent,  beau- 
tiful, dumb  creature,  and  did  not  spend  more  than 
an  hour  a  day  with  her,  thinking  it  sufficient  if  he 
came  home  at  night,  and  she  began  to  suffer  in  con- 
sequence. She  used  to  wait  for  him  from  morning 
till  night,  with  her  eyes  on  the  clock;  she  did  not 
even  look  at  mealtime  now,  for  he  took  all  his 
meals  away  from  home,  Clermont,  Chatel-Guyon, 


THE  CLOCK  253 

no  matter  where,  so  long  as  he  was  not  obliged  to 
come  home. 

"She  began  to  grow  thin;  every  other  thought, 
every  other  wish,  every  other  expectation,  and  every 
confused  hope  disappeared  from  her  mind,  and  the 
hours  during  which  she  did  not  see  him  became 
hours  of  terrible  suffering.  Soon  he  ceased  to 
come  home  regularly  at  night;  he  spent  the  nights 
with  women  at  the  casino  at  Royal  and  did  not 
come  home  until  daybreak.  But  she  never  went  to 
bed  before  he  returned.  She  remained  sitting  mo- 
tionless in  an  easy-chair,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
hands  of  the  clock,  which  turned  slowly  and  reg- 
ularly round  the  china  face  on  which  the  hours 
were  painted. 

She  heard  the  trot  of  his  horse  in  the  distance, 
and  sat  up  with  a  start,  and  when  he  came  into 
the  room  she  got  up  with  the  movements  of  an  au- 
tomaton and  pointed  to  the  clock,  as  if  to  say :  'See 
how  late  it  is!' 

"And  he  began  to  be  afraid  of  this  amorous  and 
jealous  half-witted  woman,  and  flew  into  a  rage, 
as  brutes  do ;  and  one  night  he  even  went  so  far  as 
to  strike  her,  so  they  sent  for  me.  When  I  arrived 
she  was  writhing  and  screaming  in  a  terrible  crisis 
of  pain,  anger,  passion,  how  do  I  know  what?  Can 
one  tell  what  goes  on  in  such  undeveloped  brains? 

"I  calmed  her  by  subcutaneous  injections  of  mor- 
phine, and  forbade  her  to  see  that  man  again,  for 
I  saw  clearly  that  marriage  would  kill  her  by  degrees. 


254  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Then  she  went  mad !  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  that 
idiot  has  gone  mad.  She  is  always  thinking  of  him 
and  waiting  for  him;  she  waits  for  him  day  and 
night,  awake  or  asleep,  at  this  very  moment,  cease- 
lessly. When  I  saw  her  getting  thinner  and  thinner, 
and  as  she  persisted  in  never  taking  her  eyes  oft 
the  clocks,  I  had  them  removed  from  the  house. 
I  thus  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  count  the  hours, 
and  she  tries  to  remember,  from  her  vague  remi- 
niscences, at  what  time  he  used  to  come  home  for- 
merly. I  hope  to  destroy  the  recollection  of  it  in 
time,  and  to  extinguish  that  ray  of  thought  which 
I  kindled  with  so  much  difficulty. 

"The  other  day  I  made  an  experiment.  I  offered 
her  my  watch ;  she  took  it  and  looked  at  it  for  some 
time;  then  she  began  to  scream  terribly,  as  if  the 
sight  of  that  little  object  had  suddenly  aroused  her 
recollection,  which  was  beginning  to  grow  more  dis- 
tinct. She  is  pitiably  thin  now,  with  hollow  and 
glittering  eyes,  and  she  walks  up  and  down  cease- 
lessly, like  a  wild  beast  in  its  cage ;  I  have  had  bars 
put  to  the  windows,  and  have  had  the  seats  fixed 
to  the  floor  so  as  to  prevent  her  from  looking  to  see 
whether  he  is  coming. 

"Oh!  her  poor  parents!  What  a  life  they  must 
lead !" 

We  were  now  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  the  doc- 
tor turned  round  and  said  to  me: 

"Look  at  Riom  from  here." 

The  gloomy  town  looked  like  some  ancient  city. 


THE  CLOCK  255 

Behind  it  a  green,  wooded  plain  studded  with  towns 
and  villages,  and  bathed  in  a  soft  blue  haze,  ex- 
tended until  it  was  lost  in  the  distance.  Far  away, 
on  my  right,  was  a  range  of  lofty  mountains,  some 
with  round  summits,  some  cut  off  flat,  as  if  with  a 
sword,  and  the  doctor  began  to  enumerate  the  vil- 
lages, towns,  and  hills,  and  to  give  me  the  history 
of  all  of  them.  But  I  did  not  listen  to  him ;  I  was 
thinking  of  nothing  but  the  mad  woman,  and  I  saw 
her  only.  She  seemed  to  be  hovering  over  that  vast 
extent  of  country  like  a  mournful  ghost,  and  I 
asked  him  abruptly : 

'• What  has  become  of  the  husband?" 

My  friend  seemed  rather  surprised,  but  after  a 
few  moments'  hesitation,  he  replied: 

"He  is  living  at  Royat,  on  an  allowance  that 
they  made  him,  and  is  quite  happy ;  he  leads  a  very 
fast  life." 

As  we  were  slowly  going  back,  an  English  dog- 
cart, drawn  by  a  thoroughbred  horse  passed  us 
rapidly.  The  doctor  took  me  by  the  arm : 

"There  he  is,"  he  said. 

I  saw  nothing  but  a  gray  felt  hat,  cocked  over 
one  ear,  above  a  pair  of  broad  shoulders,  driving  off 
in  a  cloud  of  dust. 


THE  DOWRY 

THE  marriage  of  Maitre  Simon  Lebrument 
with  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  Cordier  was  a 
surprise  to  no  one.  When  Maitre  Lebrument 
bought  out  the  practice  of  Maitre  Papillon,  he 
needed  money  to  pay  for  it;  and  Mademoiselle 
Jeanne  Cordier  had  three  hundred  thousand  francs 
clear  in  currency  and  in  bonds. 

Maitre  Lebrument  was  handsome  and  stylish, 
although  in  a  provincial  way;  nevertheless,  he  was 
stylish,  a  rare  thing  at  Boutigny-le-Rebours. 

Mademoiselle  Cordier  was  graceful  and  fresh- 
looking,  though  a  little  awkward;  but  she  was  a 
handsome  girl,  and  one  to  be  desired. 

The  marriage  ceremony  turned  Boutigny  topsy- 
turvy. Everybody  admired  the  young  couple,  who 
quickly  returned  home  to  domestic  felicity,  having 
made  simply  a  short  trip  to  Paris,  after  a  few 
days  of  close  intimacy. 

This  tete-a-tete  was  delightful.  Maitre  Lebru- 
ment had  shown  just  the  proper  amount  of  deli- 
cacy. He  had  taken  as  his  motto:  "All  things 

256 


THE  DOWRY  257 

come  round  to  him  who  waits."  He  knew  how  to 
be  at  once  patient  and  energetic,  and  his  success 
was  rapid  and  complete. 

After  four  days,  Madame  Lebrument  adored  her 
husband.  She  could  not  get  along  without  him, 
she  must  have  him  near  her  all  the  time,  to  caress 
and  kiss  him,  to  run  her  hands  through  his  hair 
and  beard,  to  play  with  his  hands  and  nose.  She 
would  sit  on  his  knees,  and  taking  him  by  the  ears 
would  say:  "Open  your  mouth  and  shut  your 
eyes."  He  would  open  his  mouth  wide  and  partly 
close  his  eyes,  and  he  would  try  to  nip  her  fingers 
as  she  slipped  some  dainty  between  his  teeth.  Then 
she  would  give  him  a  kiss,  sweet  and  long,  which 
would  make  chills  run  up  and  down  his  spine.  And 
then,  in  his  turn,  he  would  not  have  enough 
caresses,  enough  lips,  enough  hands,  enough  of  him- 
self to  please  his  wife  from  morning  to  night  and 
from  night  to  morning. 

When  the  first  week  was  over,  he  said  to  her : 

"If  you  wish,  we  will  leave  for  Paris  next  Tues- 
day. We  will  be  like  two  lovers  who  are  not  mar- 
ried; we  will  go  to  the  restaurants,  the  theaters, 
the  concert  halls,  everywhere!" 

She  was  ready  to  dance  for  joy. 

"Oh!   yes,  yes.    Let  us  go  as  soon  as  possible." 

He  continued: 

"And  then,  as  we  must  forget  nothing,  ask  your 
faiHei'  to  hold  your  dowry  in  readiness ;  I  shall  pay 
Maitie  Papillon  on  this  trip." 


2£b  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"All  right!"  she  answered.  "I  will  tell  him  to- 
morrow morning." 

And  he  took  her  in  his  arms  once  more,  to  renew 
those  sweet  games  of  love  which  she  had  so  enjoyed 
in  the  past  week. 

The  following  Tuesday,  father-in-law  and 
mother-in-law  went  to  the  station  with  their  daugh- 
ter and  their  son-in-law,  who  were  leaving  for  the 
capital. 

The  father-in-law  said: 

"I  tell  you  it  is  very  imprudent  to  carry  so  much 
money  around  in  a  pocketbook."  And  the  young 
lawyer  smiled. 

"Don't  worry;  I  am  accustomed  to  such  things. 
You  understand  that,  in  my  profession,  I  sometimes 
have  as  much  as  a  million  about  me.  In  this  man- 
ner, at  least,  we  avoid  a  great  amount  of  red  tape 
and  delays.  You  needn't  worry." 

The  conductor  cried:    "All  aboard  for  Paris!" 

They  scrambled  into  a  car  where  two  old  ladies 
were  already  seated. 

Lebrument  whispered  in  his  wife's  ear: 

"What  a  bother!    I  shall  not  be  able  to  smoke." 

She  answered  in  a  low  voice: 

"It  annoys  me,  too,  but  not  on  account  of  your 
cigar." 

The  whistle  blew,  and  the  train  started.  The  trip 
lasted  about  an  hour,  during  which  time  they  did 
not  say  much  to  each  other,  as  the  two  old  ladi«» 
did  not  go  to  sleep. 


THE  DOWRY  259 

As  soon  as  they  were  in  front  of  the  Saint-La- 
zare  Station,  Maitre  Lebrument  said: 

"Dearie,  let  us  first  go  over  to  the  Boulevard 
and  get  something  to  eat;  then  we  can  quietly  re- 
turn and  get  our  trunk  and  bring  it  to  the  hotel." 

She  immediately  assented. 

"Oh,  yes!  Let  us  eat  at  the  restaurant.  Is  it 
far?" 

He  answered: 

"Yes,  it's  quite  a  distance,  but  we  will  take  the 
omnibus." 

She  was  surprised. 

"Why  don't  we  take  a  cab?" 

He  began  to  scold  her  smilingly: 

"Is  that  the  way  you  save  money?  A  cab  for 
a  five  minutes'  ride  at  six  cents  a  minute!  You 
would  deprive  yourself  of  nothing." 

"That  is  true,"  she  said,  a  little  embarrassed. 

A  large  omnibus  was  passing  by,  drawn  by  three 
big  horses,  which  were  trotting.  Lebrument  called 
out: 

"  Conductor !    Conductor !" 

The  heavy  carriage  stopped.  And  the  young 
lawyer,  pushing  his  wife,  said  to  her  quickly : 

"Go  inside;  I'm  going  up  on  top,  so  that  I  may 
smoke  at  least  one  cigarette  before  luncheon." 

She  had  no  time  to  answer.  The  conductor,  who 
had  seized  her  by  the  arm  to  help  her  up  the  step, 
pushed  her  inside,  and  she  fell  into  a  seat,  bewil- 
dered, looking  through  the  back  window  at  the  feet 


260  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

of  her  husband  as  he  climbed  up  to  the  top  of  thf 
vehicle. 

And  she  sat  there  motionless,  between  a  fat  map 
odorous  of  cheap  tobacco  and  an  old  woman  odo** 
ous  of  garlic. 

All  the  other  passengers  were  lined  up  in  silence 
— a  grocer's  boy,  a  young  girl,  a  soldier,  a  gentle- 
man with  gold-rimmed  spectacles  and  a  large  silk 
hat,  two  ladies  with  a  self-satisfied  and  crabbed 
look,  which  seemed  to  say:  "We  are  riding  in 
this  thing,  but  we  don't  have  to,"  two  sisters  of 
charity,  and  an  undertaker.  They  looked  like  a 
collection  of  caricatures. 

The  jolting  of  the  carriage  made  them  wag  their 
heads,  and  the  shaking  of  the  wheels  seemed  to 
deaden  them.  They  all  looked  as  if  they  were 
asleep. 

The  young  woman  remained  motionless.  "Why 
didn't  he  come  inside  with  me?"  she  was  saying  to 
herself.  An  unaccountable  sadness  seemed  to  be 
hanging  over  her.  He  really  need  not  have 
acted  so. 

The  sisters  motioned  to  the  conductor  to  stop, 
and  they  got  off  one  after  the  other,  leaving  in 
their  wake  the  pungent  smell  of  camphor.  The  car 
started  up,  and  soon  stopped  again.  And  in  got 
a  cook,  red-faced  and  out  of  breath.  She  sat 
down,  and  placed  her  basket  of  provisions  on  her 
knees.  A  strong  odor  of  dishwater  filled  the  ve- 
hicle. 


THE  DOWRY  261 

"It's  farther  than  I  imagined,"  thought  Jeanne. 

The  undertaker  went  out,  and  was  replaced  by 
a  coachman,  who  seemed  to  bring  the  atmosphere 
of  the  stable  with  him.  The  young  girl  had  as  a 
successor  a  messenger  whose  feet  exhaled  the  odor 
of  his  errands. 

The  lawyer's  wife  began  to  feel  ill  at  ease,  nau- 
seated, ready  to  cry  without  knowing  why. 

Other  persons  left,  and  others  entered.  The 
coach  went  on  through  interminable  streets,  stop- 
ping at  stations  and  starting  again. 

"How  far  it  is!"  thought  Jeanne.  "I  hope  he 
hasn't  gone  to  sleep !  He  has  been  so  tired  the  last 
few  days." 

Little  by  little  all  the  passengers  left.  She  was 
left  alone. 

The  conductor  cried : 

"Vaugirard!" 

Seeing  that  she  did  not  move,  he  repeated: 

"Vaugirard!" 

She  looked  at  him,  understanding  that  he  was 
speaking  to  her,  as  no  one  else  was  there.  For  the 
third  time  the  man  said : 

"Vaugirard !" 

Then  she  asked: 

"Where  are  we?" 

He  answered  gruffly : 

"We're  at  Vaugirard,  of  course!  I  have  been 
yelling  it  for  the  last  half-hour!" 

"Is  it  far  from  the  Boulevard?"  she  said. 


262  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Which  boulevard?" 

"The  Boulevard  des  Italiens." 

"We  passed  that  a  long  time  ago!" 

"Would  you  mind  telling  my  husband?" 

"Your  husband?    Where  is  he?" 

"On  the  top  of  the  'bus." 

"On  the  top!  There  hasn't  been  anybody  there 
for  a  long  time." 

She  started,  terrified. 

"What?  That's  impossible!  He  got  on  with 
me.  Look  well !  He  must  be  there." 

The  conductor  was  becoming  uncivil. 

"Come  on,  little  one,  you've  talked  enough! 
Tou  can  find  ten  men  for  every  one  that  you  lose. 
Now  run  along.  You'll  find  another  in  the  street." 

Tears  were  coming  to  her  eyes.    She  insisted : 

"But,  Monsieur,  you  are  mistaken;  I  assure  you 
that  you  must  be  mistaken.  He  had  a  big  portfolio 
under  his  arm." 

The  man  began  to  laugh. 

"A  big  portfolio!  Oh!  Yes!  He  got  off  at  tne 
Madeleine.  He  got  rid  of  you,  all  right!  Ha! 
ha!  ha!" 

The  stage  had  stopped.  She  got  out  and,  in  spite 
of  herself,  she  looked  up  to  the  roof  of  the  'bus. 
It  was  absolutely  deserted. 

Then  she  began  to  cry,  and,  without  thinking  that 
anybody  was  listening  or  watching  her,  she  said 
aloud : 

"What  is  to  become  of  me?" 


THE  DOWRY  263 

An  inspector  approached. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

The  conductor  answered,  in  a  bantering  tone: 

"It's  a  lady  who  got  left  by  her  husband  during 
the  trip." 

The  other  continued : 

"Oh!  that's  nothing.  You  go  about  your  busi- 
ness." 

Then  he  turned  on  his  heels  and  walked  away. 

She  began  to  walk  straight  ahead,  too  bewildered, 
too  crazed  even  to  understand  what  had  happened 
to  her.  Where  was  she  to  go?  What  could  she 
do?  What  could  have  happened  to  him?  How 
could  he  have  made  such  a  mistake?  How  could 
he  have  been  so  forgetful  ? 

She  had  two  francs  in  her  pocket.  To  whom 
could  she  go?  Suddenly  she  remembered  her 
cousin  Barral,  one  of  the  assistants  in  the  Navy 
Department. 

She  had  just  enough  to  pay  for  a  cab.  She 
drove  to  his  house.  He  met  her  as  he  was  leav- 
ing for  his  office.  He  was  carrying  a  large  port- 
folio under  his  arm,  just  like  Lebrument. 

She  jumped  out  of  the  carriage. 

"Henri!"  she  cried. 

He  stopped,  astonished. 

"Jeanne!  Here — all  alone?  What  are  you  do- 
ing? Wiiere  have  you  come  from?" 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  she  stammered : 

"My  husband  has  just  got  lost!" 


264  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Lost!    Where?" 

"On  an  omnibus." 

"On  an  omnibus?" 

Weeping,  she  told  him  her  whole  adventure. 

He  listened,  thought,  and  then  asked: 

"Was  he  calm  this  morning?" 

"Yes." 

"Good.    Did  he  have  much  money  with  him?" 

"Yes,  he  was  carrying  my  dowry." 

"Your  dowry!    The  whole  of  it?" 

"The  whole  of  it,  in  order  to  pay  for  the  prac- 
tice which  he  bought." 

"Well,  my  dear  cousin,  by  this  time  your  hus- 
band must  be  well  on  his  way  to  Belgium." 

She  could  not  understand.    She  kept  repeating : 

"My  husband — you  say " 

"I  say  that  he  has  disapeared  with  your — your 
capital— that's  all!" 

She  stood  there  sobbing. 

"Then  he  is — he  is — he  is  a  villain!" 

And,  faint  from  excitement,  she  leaned  her  head 
on  her  cousin's  shoulder  and  wept. 

As  people  were  stopping  to  look  at  them,  he 
pushed  her  gently  into  the  vestibule  of  his  house, 
and,  passing  his  arm  around  her  waist,  he  led 
her  up  the  stairs,  and  as  his  astonished  servant 
opened  the  door,  he  ordered : 

"Sophie,  run  to  the  restaurant  and  get  a  lunch- 
eon for  two.  I  am  not  going  to  the  office  to-day." 


THE  LANCER'S  WIFE 

THE  affair  occurred  after  Bourbaki's  defeat  in 
Eastern  France.  The  army,  broken  up,  deci- 
mated, and  exhausted,  had  been  obliged  to  re- 
treat into  Switzerland  after  that  terrible  campaign, 
only  the  short  duration  of  which  saved  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  men  from  certain  death.  Hun- 
ger, the  terrible  cold,  forced  marches  in  the  snow 
without  boots,  over  bad  mountain  roads,  had  caused 
us  francs-tireurs,  especially,  the  greatest  suffering, 
for  we  had  no  tents,  and  were  almost  without  food, 
always  in  the  van  when  we  were  marching  toward 
Belfort,  and  in  the  rear  when  returning  by  the 
Jura.  Of  our  little  band,  which  had  numbered 
twelve  hundred  men  on  the  first  of  January,  only 
twenty-two  pale,  thin,  ragged  wretches  remained, 
when  we  at  last  succeeded  in  reaching  Swiss  terri- 
tory. 

There  we  were  safe,  and  could  rest.  Everybody 
knows  what  sympathy  was  shown  to  the  unfor- 
tunate French  army,  and  how  well  it  was  cared  for. 
We  all  gained  fresh  life,  and  those  who  had  been 

Vol.  1—18  265 


266  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

rich  and  happy  before  the  war  declared  that  they 
never  had  experienced  a  greater  feeling  of  comfort 
than  at  that  time.  Think  of  it!  We  actually  had 
something  to  eat  every  day,  and  could  sleep  every 
night. 

Meanwhile,  the  war  continued  in  Eastern  France, 
which  had  been  excluded  from  the  armistice. 
Besanc,on  still  held  the  enemy  in  check,  and  the 
latter  had  their  revenge  by  ravaging  Franche 
Comte.  Sometimes  we  heard  that  they  had  ap- 
proached close  to  the  frontier,  and  we  saw  Swiss 
troops,  who  were  to  form  a  line  of  observation 
between  us  and  them,  set  out  on  their  march. 

That  exasperated  us  in  the  end,  and,  as  we  re- 
gained health  and  strength,  the  longing  to  fight  took 
possession  of  us.  It  was  disgraceful  and  irritating 
to  know  that  within  two  or  three  leagues  of  us  the 
Germans  were  victorious  and  insolent,  to  know  that 
we  were  protected  by  our  captivity,  and  to  feel  that 
on  that  account  we  were  powerless  against  them. 

One  day  our  Captain  took  five  or  six  of  us  aside, 
and  spoke  to  us  about  it,  long  and  furiously.  He 
was  a  fine  fellow,  that  captain.  He  had  been  a  sub- 
lieutenant in  the  zouaves,  was  tall  and  thin  and  as 
hard  as  steel,  and  during  the  whole  campaign  he 
had  made  things  lively  for  the  Germans.  He 
fretted  in  inactivity,  and  could  not  accustom  him- 
self to  the  idea  of  being  an  idle  prisoner. 

"Hang  it!"  he  said  to  us,  "does  it  not  enrage 
you  to  know  that  there  is  a  number  of  uhlans 


THE  LANCER'S  WIFE  267 

within  two  hours  of  us  ?  Does  it  not  almost  drive 
you  mad  to  know  that  those  beggarly  wretches  are 
walking  about  as  masters  in  our  mountains,  when 
six  determined  men  might  kill  a  whole  spitful  any 
day  ?  I  cannot  endure  it  any  longer,  and  I  must  go 
there." 

"But  how  can  you  manage  it,  Captain?" 

"How?  It  is  not  very  difficult!  Just  as  if  we 
had  not  done  some  risky  things  within  the  last  six 
months,  and  got  out  of  woods  that  were  guarded  by 
very  different  men  from  the  Swiss.  The  day  that 
you  wish  to  cross  over  into  France,  I  will  under- 
take to  get  you  there." 

"That  may  be;  but  what  shall  we  do  in  France 
without  any  arms  ?" 

"Without  arms?  \Ve  will  get  them  over  yon- 
der, by  heaven!" 

"You  are  forgetting  the  treaty,"  another  sol- 
dier said;  "we  shall  run  the  risk  of  doing  the  Swiss 
an  injury,  if  Manteuffel  learns  that  they  have  al- 
lowed prisoners  to  return  to  France." 

"Come,"  said  the  Captain,  "those  are  all  bad  rea- 
sons. I  mean  to  go  and  kill  some  Prussians;  that 
is  all  I  care  about.  If  you  do  not  wish  to  do  as  I 
do,  very  well;  only  say  so  at  once.  I  can  go  by 
myself;  I  do  not  need  anybody's  company." 

Naturally  we  all  protested,  and,  as  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  make  the  Captain  change  his  mind,  we 
felt  obliged  to  promise  to  go  with  him.  We  liked 
him  too  much  to  leave  him  in  the  lurch,  as  he  never 


268  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

failed  us  in  any  extremity;  and  so  the  expedition 
was  decided  on. 

The  Captain  had  a  plan  of  his  own  that  he  had 
been  cogitating  over  for  some  time.  A  man  in  that 
part  of  the  country  whom  he  knew  was  willing 
to  lend  him  a  cart  and  six  suits  of  peasants'  clothes. 
We  could  hide  under  some  straw  at  the  bottom  of 
the  wagon,  which  would  be  loaded  with  Gruyere 
cheese,  which  he  was  supposed  to  be  going  to  sell  in 
France.  The  Captain  told  the  sentinels  that  he  was 
taking  two  friends  with  him  to  protect  his  goods, 
in  case  anyone  should  try  to  rob  him,  which  did 
not  seem  an  extraordinary  precaution.  A  Swiss 
officer  seemed  to  look  at  the  wagon  in  a  knowing 
manner,  but  that  was  in  order  to  impress  his  sol- 
diers. In  a  word,  neither  officers  nor  men  could 
see  anything  amiss. 

"Get  along,"  the  Captain  said  to  the  horses,  as  he 
cracked  his  whip,  while  our  three  men  quietly 
smoked  their  pipes.  I  was  half  suffocated  in  my 
box,  which  admitted  the  air  only  through  some  holes 
in  front,  and  at  the  same  time  I  was  nearly  frozen, 
for  it  was  bitterly  cold. 

"Get  up,"  the  Captain  said  again,  and  the  wagon 
loaded  with  Gruyere  cheese  entered  France. 

The  Prussian  lines  were  very  badly  guarded,  as 
the  enemy  trusted  to  the  watchfulness  of  the  Swiss. 
The  sergeant  spoke  North  German,  while  our  Cap- 
tain spoke  the  bad  German  of  the  Four  Cantons, 
and  so  they  could  not  understand  each  other.  The 


THE  LANCER'S  WIFE  269 

sergeant,  however,  pretended  to  be  very  intelligent ; 
and,  in  order  to  make  us  believe  that  he  understood 
us,  they  allowed  us  to  continue  our  journey;  and, 
after  traveling  for  seven  hours,  being  continually 
stopped  in  the  same  way,  at  nightfall  we  arrived 
at  a  small  village  of  the  Jura,  in  ruins. 

What  were  we  about  to  do?  Our  only  arms 
were  the  Captain's  whip,  our  uniforms,  the  peas- 
ants' blouses,  and  our  food  the  Gruyere  cheese.  Our 
sole  wealth  consisted  in  our  ammunition,  packages 
of  cartridges  which  we  had  stowed  away  inside 
some  of  the  huge  cheeses.  We  had  about  a  thou- 
sand of  them,  just  two  hundred  each,  but  we  needed 
rifles,  and  they  must  be  chassepots.  Luckily,  how- 
ever, the  Captain  was  a  bold  man  of  an  inventive 
mind,  and  this  was  the  plan  that  he  proposed: 

While  three  of  us  remained  hidden  in  a  cellar  in 
the  abandoned  village,  he  continued  his  journey  as 
far  as  Besancon  with  the  empty  wagon  and  one 
man.  The  town  was  invested,  but  one  can  always 
make  one's  way  into  a  town  among  the  hills  by 
crossing  the  tableland  till  within  about  ten  miles  of 
the  walls,  and  then  following  paths  and  ravines  on 
foot.  They  left  their  wagon  at  Omans,  among  the 
Germans,  and  escaped  out  of  it  at  night  on  foot,  so 
as  to  gain  the  heights  which  border  the  River 
Doubs ;  the  next  day  they  entered  Besancpn,  where 
there  were  plenty  of  chassepots.  There  were  nearly 
forty  thousand  of  them  left  in  the  arsenal,  and  Gen- 
eral Roland,  a  brave  marine,  laughed  at  the  Captain's 


270  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

daring  project,  but  let  him  have  six  rifles  and 
wished  him  good  luck.  There  he  had  also  found  his 
wife,  who  had  been  through  all  the  war  with  us 
before  the  campaign  in  the  East,  and  who  had  been 
only  prevented  by  illness  from  continuing  with 
Bourbaki's  army.  She  had  recovered,  however,  in 
spite  of  the  cold,  which  was  growing  more  and 
more  intense,  and  in  spite  of  the  numberless  priva- 
tions that  awaited  her,  she  persisted  in  accompany- 
ing her  husband.  He  was  obliged  to  yield  to  her, 
and  all  three,  the  Captain,  his  wife,  and  our  com- 
rade, set  out  on  their  expedition. 

To  go  there  was  nothing  in  comparison  to  return- 
ing. They  were  obliged  to  travel  by  night,  to  avoid 
meeting  anybody,  as  the  possession  of  six  rifles 
would  have  made  them  liable  to  suspicion.  But,  in 
spite  of  everything,  a  week  after  leaving  us,  the 
Captain  and  his  two  men  were  back  with  us  again. 
The  campaign  was  about  to  begin. 

On  the  first  night  of  his  arrival  he  began  it  him- 
self, and,  under  the  pretext  of  examining  the  sur- 
rounding country,  he  went  along  the  highroad. 

I  must  tell  you  that  the  little  village  which 
served  as  our  fortress  was  a  small  collection  of 
poor,  badly  built  houses,  which  had  been  deserted 
long  before.  It  lay  on  a  steep  slope,  which  termi- 
nated in  a  wooded  plain.  The  country  people  sell 
the  wood;  they  send  it  down  the  slopes,  which  are 
locally  called  coulees,  and  which  lead  down  to  the 
plain,  and  there  they  stack  it  into  piles,  which  they 


THE  LANCER'S  WIFE  271 

sell  three  times  a  year  to  the  wood-merchant.  The 
spot  where  this  market  is  held  is  indicated  by  two 
small  houses  beside  the  highway,  which  serve  for 
public  houses.  The  Captain  had  gone  down  there 
by  way  of  one  of  these  coulees. 

He  had  been  gone  about  half  an  hour,  and  we 
were  on  the  lookout  at  the  top  of  the  ravine,  when 
we  heard  a  shot.  The  Captain  had  ordered  us  not 
to  stir,  and  to  come  to  him  only  when  we  heard  him 
blow  his  trumpet.  It  was  made  of  a  goat's  horn, 
and  could  be  heard  a  league  off;  but  it  gave  no 
sound,  and,  in  spite  of  our  cruel  anxiety,  we  were 
obliged  to  wait  in  silence,  with  our  rifles  by  our 
side. 

It  is  nothing  to  go  down  these  coulees;  one  just 
lets  oneself  slide;  but  it  is  more  difficult  to  get 
up  again;  one  has  to  scramble  up  by  catching 
hold  of  the  hanging  branches  of  the  trees,  and 
sometimes  on  all  fours,  by  main  strength.  A  whole 
hour  passed,  and  he  did  not  come ;  nothing  moved 
in  the  brushwood.  The  Captain's  wife  began  to 
grow  impatient.  What  could  he  be  doing?  Why 
did  he  not  call  us  ?  Did  the  shot  that  we  had  heard 
proceed  from  an  enemy,  and  had  he  killed  or 
wounded  our  leader,  her  husband?  They  did  not 
know  what  to  think,  but  I  myself  fancied  either  that 
he  was  dead  or  that  his  enterprise  was  successful ; 
and  I  was  merely  anxious  and  curious  to  know  what 
he  had  done. 

Suddenly  we  heard  the  sound  of  his  trumpet,  and 


272  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

we  were  much  surprised  that  instead  of  coming 
from  below,  as  we  had  expected,  it  came  from  the 
village  behind  us.  What  did  that  mean?  It  was 
a  mystery  to  us,  but  the  same  idea  struck  us  all, 
that  he  had  been  killed,  and  that  the  Prussians  were 
blowing  the  trumpet  to  draw  us  into  an  ambush. 
We  therefore  returned  to  the  cottage,  keeping  a 
careful  lookout,  with  our  ringers  on  the  trigger,  and 
hiding  under  the  branches ;  but  his  wife,  in  spite  of 
our  entreaties,  rushed  on,  leaping  like  a  tigress. 
She  thought  that  she  had  to  avenge  her  husband, 
and  had  fixed  the  bayonet  to  her  rifle,  and  we  lost 
sight  of  her  at  that  moment  that  we  heard  the  trum- 
pet again.  A  few  moments  later,  we  heard  her 
calling  out  to  us : 

"Come  on!  come  on!    He  is  alive!    It  is  he!" 
We  hastened  on,  and  saw  the  Captain  smoking  his 
pipe  at  the  entrance  of  the  village,  but  strangely 
enough  he  was  on  horseback. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "you  see  that  there  is  something 
to  be  done  here.  Here  I  am  on  horseback  already ; 
I  knocked  over  an  uhlan  yonder,  and  took  his  horse ; 
I  suppose  they  were  guarding  the  wood,  but  it  was 
by  drinking  and  eating  in  clover.  One  of  them, 
the  sentry  at  the  door,  had  not  time  to  see  me 
before  I  gave  him  a  sugarplum  in  his  stomach,  and 
then,  before  the  others  could  come  out,  I  jumped 
on  the  horse  and  was  off  like  a  shot.  Eight  or  ten 
of  them  followed  me,  I  think ;  but  I  took  the  cross- 
roads through  the  woods.  I  have  got  scratched  and 


THE  LANCER'S  WIFE  273 

torn  a  bit,  but  here  I  am,  and  now,  my  good  fel- 
lows, attention,  and  take  care!  Those  brigands 
will  not  rest  until  they  have  caught  us,  and  we 
must  receive  them  with  rifle  bullets.  Come  on; 
let  us  take  up  our  posts !" 

We  set  out.  One  of  us  took  up  his  position  a 
good  way  from  the  village  of  the  crossroads ;  I  was 
posted  at  the  entrance  of  the  main  street,  where 
the  road  from  the  level  country  enters  the  village, 
while  the  two  others,  the  Captain  and  his  wife,  wyere 
in  the  middle  of  the  village,  near  the  church,  whose 
tower  served  for  an  observatory  and  a  citadel. 

We  had  not  been  in  our  places  long  before  we 
heard  a  shot,  followed  by  another,  and  then  two, 
then  three.  The  first  was  evidently  a  chassepot — 
one  recognized  it  by  the  sharp  report,  which  sounds 
like  the  crack  of  a  whip — while  the  other  three  came 
from  the  lancers'  carbines. 

The  Captain  was  furious.  He  had  given  orders 
to  the  outpost  to  let  the  enemy  pass  and  merely  to 
follow  them  at  a  distance  if  they  marched  toward 
the  village,  and  to  join  me  when  they  had  gone  well 
between  the  houses.  Then  they  were  to  appear 
suddenly,  take  the  patrol  beween  two  fires,  and  not 
allow  a  single  man  to  escape;  for,  posted  as  we 
were,  the  six  of  us  could  have  hemmed  in  ten  Prus- 
sians, if  needful. 

"That  confounded  Piedelot  has  roused  them," 
the  Captain  said,  "and  they  will  not  venture  to 
come  on  blindfolded  any  longer.  I  am  quite  sure 


274  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

that  he  has  managed  to  get  a  shot  into  himself 
somewhere  or  other,  for  we  hear  nothing  of  him. 
It  serves  him  right;  why  did  he  not  obey  orders?" 
And  then,  after  a  moment,  he  grumbled  in  his 
beard :  "After  all,  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  fellow ; 
he  is  so  brave,  and  shoots  so  well !" 

The  Captain  was  right.  We  waited  until  evening, 
without  seeing  the  uhlans ;  they  had  retreated  after 
the  first  attack ;  but  unfortunately  we  had  not  seen 
Piedelot,  either.  Was  he  dead  or  a  prisoner  ?  When 
night  came,  the  captain  proposed  that  we  should 
go  out  and  look  for  him,  and  so  the  three  of  us 
started.  At  the  crossroads  we  found  a  broken  rifle 
and  some  blood,  while  the  ground  was  trampled 
down;  but  we  did  not  find  either  a  wounded  man 
or  a  dead  body,  although  we  searched  every  thicket, 
and  at  midnight  we  returned  without  having  dis- 
covered anything  of  our  unfortunate  comrade. 

"It  is  very  strange,"  the  Captain  growled.  "They 
must  have  killed  him  and  thrown  him  into  the 
bushes  somewhere ;  they  cannot  possibly  have  taken 
him  prisoner,  as  he  would  have  called  out  for  help. 
I  cannot  understand  it  all."  Just  as  he  said  that, 
bright  red  flames  shot  up  in  the  direction  of  the 
inn  on  the  highroad,  which  illuminated  the  sky. 

"Rascals!  cowards!"  he  shouted.  "I  will  bet 
that  they  have  set  fire  to  the  two  houses  in  the 
marketplace,  in  order  to  have  their  revenge,  and 
then  they  will  scuttle  off  without  saying  a  word. 
They  will  be  satisfied  with  having  killed  a  man  and 


THE  LANCER'S  WIFE  275 

set  fire  to  two  houses.  But  it  shall  not  pass  over 
like  that.  We  must  go  for  them;  they  will  not 
like  to  leave  their  illuminations  in  order  to  fight." 

"It  would  be  a  great  stroke  of  luck  if  we  could 
set  Piedelot  free  at  the  same  time,"  some  one  said. 

The  five  of  us  set  off,  full  of  rage  and  hope.  In 
twenty  minutes  we  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
coulee,  and  had  not  yet  seen  anyone  when  we  were 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  inn.  The  fire  was 
behind  the  house,  and  all  we  saw  of  it  was  the 
reflection  above  the  roof.  However,  we  were  walk- 
ing rather  slowly,  as  we  were  afraid  of  an  ambush, 
when  suddenly  we  heard  Piedelot's  well-known 
voice.  It  had  a  strange  sound,  however ;  for  it  was 
at  the  same  time  dull  and  vibrating,  stifled  and  clear, 
as  if  he  were  calling  out  as  loud  as  he  could  with  a 
rag  stuffed  into  his  mouth.  He  seemed  to  be 
hoarse  and  panting,  and  the  unlucky  fellow  kept 
exclaiming :  "  Help !  Help !" 

We  sent  all  thought  of  prudence  to  the  devil, 
and  in  two  bounds  we  were  at  the  back  of  the  inn, 
where  a  terrible  sight  met  our  eyes. 

Piedelot  was  being  burned  alive.  He  was  writh- 
ing in  the  midst  of  a  heap  of  fagots,  tied  to  a  stake, 
and  the  flames  were  lapping  him  with  their  burning 
tongues.  When  he  saw  us,  his  tongue  seemed  to 
stick  in  his  throat ;  he  drooped  his  head,  and  seemed 
as  if  he  were  about  to  die.  It  was  only  the  affair  of 
a  moment  to  upset  the  burning  pile,  to  scatter  the 
embers,  and  to  cut  the  ropes  that  fastened  him. 


276  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Poor  fellow,  in  what  a  terrible  state  we  found 
him !  The  evening  before  he  had  had  his  left  arm 
broken,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  badly 
beaten  since  then,  for  his  whole  body  was  covered 
with  wounds,  bruises,  and  blood.  The  flames  had 
also  begun  their  work  on  him,  and  he  had  two  large 
burns,  one  on  his  loins  and  the  other  on  his  right 
thigh,  and  his  beard  and  hair  were  scorched.  Poor 
Piedelot ! 

No  one  knows  the  terrible  rage  we  felt  at  this 
sight!  We  would  have  rushed  headlong  at  a  hun- 
dred thousand  Prussians ;  our  thirst  for  vengeance 
was  intense.  But  the  cowards  had  run  away,  leav- 
ing their  crime  behind  them.  Where  could  we  find 
them  now  ?  Meanwhile,  however,  the  Captain's  wife 
was  looking  after  Piedelot,  and  dressing  his  wounds 
as  best  she  could,  while  the  Captain  himself  shook 
hands  with  him  excitedly,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he 
recovered  himself. 

"Good  morning,  Captain;  good  morning,  all  of 
you,"  he  said.  "Ah!  the  scoundrels,  the  wretches! 
Why,  twenty  of  them  came  to  surprise  us." 

"Twenty,  do  you  say?" 

"Yes;  there  was  a  whole  band  of  them,  and  that 
is  why  I  disobeyed  orders,  Captain,  and  fired  on 
them,  for  they  would  have  killed  you  all,  and  I  pre- 
ferred to  stop  them.  That  frightened  them,  and 
they  did  not  venture  to  go  farther  than  the  cross- 
roads. They  were  such  cowards.  Four  of  them 
shot  at  me  at  twenty  yards,  as  if  I  had  been  a  tar- 


THE  LANCER'S  WIFE  277 

get,  and  then  they  slashed  me  with  their  swords. 
My  arm  was  broken,  so  that  I  could  only  use  my 
bayonet  with  one  hand." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  call  for  help  ?" 

"I  took  good  care  not  to  do  that,  for  you  would 
all  have  come;  and  you  would  neither  have  been 
able  to  defend  me  nor  yourselves,  being  only  five 
against  twenty." 

"You  know  that  we  should  not  have  allowed  you 
to  be  taken,  poor  old  fellow." 

"I  preferred  to  die  by  myself.  I  did  not  want 
to  bring  you  there,  for  it  would  have  been  a  mere 
ambush." 

"Well,  we  will  not  talk  about  it  any  more.  Do 
you  feel  rather  easier?" 

"No,  I  am  suffocating.  I  know  that  I  cannot 
live  much  longer.  The  brutes !  They  tied  me  to  a 
tree,  and  beat  me  till  I  was  half  dead,  and  then  they 
shook  my  broken  arm ;  but  I  did  not  make  a  sound. 
I  would  rather  have  bitten  my  tongue  out  than  have 
cried  ont  before  them.  .  .  .  Now  I  can  tell  what 
I  am  suffering  and  shed  tears;  it  does  one  good. 
Thank  you,  my  kind  friends." 

"Poor  Piedelot!  But  we  will  avenge  you,  you 
may  be  sure !" 

"Yes,  yes;  I  want  you  to  do  that.  There  is,  in 
particular,  a  woman  among  them  who  passes  as  the 
wife  of  the  lancer  whom  the  captain  killed  yester- 
day. She  is  dressed  like  a  lancer,  and  she  tortured 
me  the  most  yesterday,  and  suggested  burning  me; 


278  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

and  it  was  she  who  set  fire  to  the  wood.  Oh !  the 
wretch,  the  beast.  .  .  .  Ah!  how  I  suffer!  My 
loins,  my  arms!"  and  he  fell  back  panting  and 
exhausted,  writhing  in  his  terrible  agony,  while  the 
captain's  wife  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  fore- 
head, and  we  all  shed  tears  of  grief  and  rage,  as  if 
we  had  been  children.  I  will  not  describe  the  end ; 
he  died  half  an  hour  later,  previously  telling  us 
in  which  direction  the  enemy  had  gone.  When  he 
was  dead  we  gave  ourselves  time  to  bury  him,  and 
then  we  set  out  in  pursuit  of  them,  with  our 
hearts  full  of  fury  and  hatred. 

"We  will  throw  ourselves  on  the  whole  Prus- 
sian army,  if  it  be  necessary,"  the  Captain  said; 
"but  we  will  avenge  Piedelot.  We  must  catch 
those  scoundrels.  Let  us  swear  to  die,  rather  -than 
not  to  find  them ;  and  if  I  am  killed  first,  these  are 
my  orders:  All  the  prisoners  that  you  take  are 
to  be  shot  immediately,  and  as  for  the  lancer's  wife, 
she  is  to  be  tortured  before  she  is  put  to  death." 

"She  must  not  be  shot,  because  she  is  a  woman," 
the  Captain's  wife  said.  "If  you  survive,  I  am 
sure  that  you  would  not  shoot  a  woman.  Torturing 
her  will  be  quite  sufficient;  but  if  you  are  killed  in 
this  pursuit,  I  ask  one  thing,  and  that  is  to  fight 
with  her;  I  will  kill  her  with  my  own  hands,  and 
the  others  can  do  what  they  like  with  her  if  she 
kills  me." 

"We  will  dishonor  her!  We  will  burn  her!  We 
will  tear  her  to  pieces !  Piedelot  shall  be  avenged ! 


THE  LANCER'S  WIFE  2/9 

An  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth!" 
Next  morning  we  unexpectedly  fell  on  an  out- 
post of  uhlans  four  leagues  away.  Surprised  by 
our  sudden  attack,  they  were  not  able  to  mount  their 
horses,  nor  even  to  defend  themselves;  and  in  a 
few  moments  we  had  five  prisoners,  corresponding 
to  our  own  number.  The  Captain  questioned  them, 
and  from  their  answers  we  felt  sure  that  they 
were  the  same  whom  we  had  encountered  the  day 
before.  Then  a  very  curious  operation  took  place. 
One  of  us  was  told  off  to  ascertain  their  sex,  and 
nothing  can  describe  our  joy  when  we  discovered 
what  we  were  seeking  among  them,  the  female 
executioner  who  had  tortured  our  friend. 

The  four  men  were  shot  on  the  spot,  with  their 
backs  to  us  and  close  to  the  muzzles  of  our  rifles; 
and  then  we  turned  our  attention  to  the  woman. 
What  were  we  going  to  do  with  her?  I  must  ac- 
knowledge that  we  were  all  in  favor  of  shooting 
her.  Hatred,  and  the  wish  to  avenge  Piedelot, 
had  extinguished  all  pity  in  us,  and  we  had  forgot- 
ten that  we  wished  to  shoot  a  woman,  but  a  woman 
reminded  us  of  it,  the  Captain's  wife;  at  her  en- 
treaties, therefore,  we  determined  to  hold  her  a 
prisoner. 

,  The  Captain's  poor  wife  was  to  be  severely  pun- 
ished for  this  act  of  clemency. 

The  next  day  we  heard  that  the  armistice  had 
been  extended  to  the  eastern  part  of  France,  and 
we  had  to  put  an  tnd  to  our  little  campaign.  Two 


280  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

of  us,  who  belonged  to  the  neighborhood,  returned 
home,  so  there  were  only  four  of  us,  all  told:  the 
captain,  his  wife,  and  two  men.  We  belonged  to 
Besanc,on,  which  was  still  being  besieged  in  spite  of 
the  armistice. 

"Let  us  stop  here,"  said  the  captain.  "I  can- 
not believe  that  the  war  is  to  end  like  this.  The 
devil  take  it!  Surely  there  are  men  still  left  in 
France;  and  now  is  the  time  to  prove  what  they 
are  made  of.  The  spring  is  coming  on,  and  the 
armistice  is  only  a  trap  laid  for  the  Prussians.  Dur- 
ing the  time  that  it  lasts,  a  new  army  will  be  raised, 
and  some  fine  morning  we  shall  fall  upon  them 
again.  We  shall  be  ready,  and  we  have  a  hostage — 
let  us  remain  here." 

We  fixed  our  quarters  there.  It  was  terribly 
cold,  and  we  did  not  go  out  much,  and  somebody 
had  always  to  keep  the  female  prisoner  in  sight. 

She  was  sullen,  and  never  said  anything,  or  else 
spoke  of  her  husband,  whom  the  Captain  had  killed. 
She  looked  at  him  continually  with  fierce  eyes,  and 
we  felt  that  she  was  tormented  by  a  wild  longing 
for  revenge.  That  seemed  to  us  to  be  the  most 
suitable  punishment  for  the  terrible  torments  that 
she  had  made  Piedelot  suffer,  for  impotent  desire 
for  vengeance  is  such  intense  pain ! 

Alas !  we  who  know  how  to  avenge  our  comrade 
should  have  known  that  this  woman  would  know 
how  to  avenge  her  husband,  and  should  have  been 
on  our  guard.  It  is  true  that  one  of  us  kept  watch 


THE  LANCER'S  WIFE  281 

every  night,  and  that  at  first  we  tied  Her  by  a  long 
rope  to  the  great  oak  bench  that  was  fastened  to 
the  wall.  But,  by  and  by,  as  she  never  tried  to 
escape,  in  spite  of  her  hatred  for  us,  we  relaxed  our 
extreme  prudence,  and  allowed  her  to  sleep  some- 
where else  except  on  the  bench,  and  without  being 
tied.  What  had  we  to  fear?  She  was  at  the  end 
of  the  room,  a  man  was  on  guard  at  the  door,  and 
between  her  and  the  sentinel  the  Captain's  wife  and 
two  other  men  used  to  lie.  She  was  alone  and 
unarmed  against  four,  so  there  could  be  no  danger. 
One  night  when  we  were  asleep,  and  the  Captain 
was  on  guard,  the  lancer's  wife  was  lying  more 
quietly  in  her  corner  than  usual,  and  she  had  even 
smiled  during  the  evening,  for  the  first  time  since 
she  had  been  our  prisoner.  Suddenly,  however, 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  we  were  all  awakened 
by  a  terrible  cry.  We  got  up,  groping  about,  and 
at  once  stumbled  over  a  furious  couple  who  were 
rolling  about  and  fighting  on  the  ground.  It  was 
the  Captain  and  the  lancer's  wife.  We  threw  our- 
selves on  them,  and  separated  them  in  a  moment. 
She  was  shouting  and  laughing,  and  he  seemed  to 
be  uttering  the  death  rattle.  All  this  took  place 
in  the  dark.  Two  of  us  held  her,  and  when  a  light 
was  struck  a  terrible  sight  met  our  eyes.  The  cap- 
tain was  lying  on  the  floor  in  a  pool  of  blood,  with 
an  enormous  gash  in  his  throat,  and  his  bayonet, 
which  had  been  taken  from  his  rifle,  was  sticking  in 
the  red,  gaping  wound.  A  few  minutes  afterward 

Vol.  1—19 


282  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

he  died,  without  having  been  able  to  utter  a  word. 

His  wife  did  not  shed  a  tear.  Her  eyes  were 
dry,  her  throat  was  contracted,  and  she  looked  at 
the  lancer's  wife  steadfastly  and  ferociously. 

"This  woman  belongs  to  me,"  she  said  to  us 
suddenly.  "You  swore  to  me  not  a  week  ago  to  let 
me  kill  her  as  I  chose,  if  she  should  kill  my  hus- 
band ;  and  you  must  keep  your  oath.  You  must 
fasten  her  securely  to  the  fireplace,  upright  against 
the  back  of  it,  and  then  you  can  go  where  you  like, 
but  far  from  here.  I  will  take  my  revenge  on  her 
myself.  Leave  the  Captain's  body,  and  we  three, 
he,  she,  and  I,  will  remain  here." 

We  obeyed,  and  left  her.  She  promised  to  write 
to  us  at  Geneva. 

Two  days  later  I  received  the  following  letter, 
dated  the  day  after  we  had  left ;  it  had  been  written 
at  an  inn  on  the  highroad: 

"My  FRIEND  :  I  am  writing  to  you,  according  to  my 
promise.  For  the  moment  I  am  at  the  inn,  where  I  have 
just  handed  my  prisoner  over  to  a  Prussian  officer. 

"I.  must  tell  you,  my  friend,  that  this  poor  woman  has 
teft  two  children  in  Germany.  She  had  followed  her  hus- 
band, whom  she  adored,  as  she  did  not  wish  him  to  be 
exposed  to  the  risks  of  war  by  himself,  and  as  her  chil- 
dren were  with  their  grandparents.  I  have  learned  all  this 
since  yesterday,  and  it  has  turned  my  ideas  of  vengeance 
into  more  humane  feelings.  At  the  very  moment  when  I 
f".lt  pleasure  in  insulting  this  woman,  and  in  threatening 
her  with  the  most  fearful  torments,  in  recalling  Piedelot, 
who  had  been  burned  alive,  and  in  threatening  her  with 
a  similar  death,  she  looked  at  me  coldly,  and  said : 

"'What  have  you  to  reproach  me  with,  Frenchwoman? 


THE  LANCER'S  WIFE  283 

You  think  that  you  will  do  right  in  avenging  your  hus- 
band's death,  is  not  that  so?' 

"'Yes,'  I  replied. 

"  'Very  well,  then ;  in  killing  him  I  did  what  you  are 
about  to  do  in  burning  me.  I  avenged  my  husband,  for 
your  husband  killed  him.' 

"'Well,'  I  replied,  'as  you  approve  of  this  vengeance, 
prepare  to  endure  it.' 

"  'I  do  not  fear  it.' 

"And  in  fact  she  did  not  seem  to  have  lost  courage. 
Her  face  was  calm,  and  she  looked  at  me  without  trem- 
bling, while  I  brought  wood  and  dried  leaves,  and  fever- 
ishly threw  on  them  the  powder  from  some  cartridges, 
which  was  to  make  her  funeral  pile  the  more  cruel. 

"I  hesitated  in  my  thoughts  of  persecution  for  a  mo- 
ment. But  the  Captain  was  there,  pale  and  covered  with 
blood,  and  he  seemed  to  be  looking  at  me  with  his  large, 
glassy  eyes,  and  I  applied  myself  to  my  work  again  after 
kissing  his  pale  lips.  Suddenly,  however,  on  raising  my 
head,  I  saw  that  she  was  weeping,  and  I  felt  rather  sur- 
prised. 

'"So  you  are  frightened?'  I  said  to  her. 

"  'No,  but  when  I  saw  you  kiss  your  husband,  I  thought 
of  mine,  and  of  all  whom  I  love.' 

"She  continued  to  sob,  but  stopping  suddenly,  she  said 
to  me  in  broken  words  and  in  a  low  voice : 

"  'Have  you  any  children  ?' 

"A  shiver  ran  over  me,  for  I  guessed  that  this  poor 
woman  had  some  She  asked  me  to  look  in  a  pocketbook 
which  was  in  her  bosom,  and  in  it  I  saw  two  photographs 
of  quite  young  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  with  those  kind, 
gentle,  chubby  faces  that  German  children  have.  In  it 
there  were  also  two  locks  of  light  hair  and  a  letter  in  a 
large,  childish  hand,  and  beginning  with  German  words 
which  meant:  'My  dear  little  mother.' 

"I  could  not  restrain  my  tears,  my  dear  friend,  and  so  I 
untied  her,  and  without  venturing  to  look  at  the  face  of 
my  poor  dead  husband,  who  was  not  to  be  avenged,  I 
went  with  her  as  far  as  the  inn.  She  is  free;  I  have  just 


284  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

left  her,  and  she  kissed  me  with  tears.  I  am  going  up- 
stairs to  my  husband;  come  as  soon  as  possible,  my  dear 
friend,  to  look  for  our  two  bodies." 

I  set  off  with  all  speed,  and  when  I  arrived  there 
was  a  Prussian  patrol  at  the  cottage;  and  when  I 
asked  what  it  all  meant  I  was  told  that  there  was 
a  Captain  of  francs-tireurs  and  his  wife  inside,  both 
dead.  I  gave  their  names;  they  saw  that  I  knew 
them,  and  I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  arrange  their 
funeral. 

"Somebody  has  already  undertaken  it,"  was  the 
reply.  "Go  in  if  you  wish  to,  as  you  know  them. 
You  can  settle  about  their  funeral  with  their 
friend." 

I  went  in.  The  Captain  and  his  wife  were  lying 
side  by  side  on  a  bed,  and  were  covered  by  a  sheet. 
I  raised  it,  and  saw  that  the  woman  had  inflicted  a 
wound  in  her  throat  similar  to  that  from  which  her 
husband  had  died. 

At  the  side  of  the  bed  there  sat,  watching  and 
weeping,  the  woman  who  had  been  mentioned  to 
me  as  their  best  friend.  It  was  the  lancer's  wife. 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR 

NOT  a  sound  was  to  be  heard  in  the  forest  save 
the  indistinct,  fluttering  sound  of  the  snow 
falling  on  the  trees.  It  had  been  snowing 
since  noon ;  a  fine  snow,  which  covered  the  branches 
as  with  frozen  moss  and  spread  a  silvery  mantle 
over  the  dead  leaves  in  the  ditches,  covered  the 
roads  with  a  white,  yielding  carpet,  and  made  still 
more  intense  the  boundless  silence  of  this  ocean 
of  trees. 

Before  the  door  of  a  forester's  dwelling  a  young 
woman,  her  arms  bare  to  the  elbow,  was  chopping 
wood  with  a  hatchet  on  a  block  of  stone.  She  was 
tall,  slender,  strong — a  true  woman  of  the  woods, 
daughter  and  wife  of  a  forester. 

A  voice  called  from  within  the  house: 

"We  are  alone  tonight,  Berthine;  you  must  come 
in.  It  is  growing  dark,  and  there  may  be  Prus- 
sians or  wolves  about." 

"I've  just  finished,  mother,"  replied  the  young 
woman,  splitting  as  she  spoke  an  immense  log  of 
wood  with  strong,  deft  blows,  which  expanded  her 

285 


286  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

chest  every  time  she  raised  her  arms  to  strike. 
"Here  I  am;  there's  no  need  to  be  afraid;  it  is 
still  light." 

She  gathered  up  her  sticks  and  logs,  piled  them 
in  the  chimney  corner,  went  back  to  close  the  great 
oaken  shutters,  and  finally  came  in,  drawing  behind 
her  the  heavy  bolts  of  the  door. 

Her  mother,  a  wrinkled  old  woman  whom  age 
had  rendered  timid,  was  spinning  by  the  fireside. 

"I  am  uneasy,"  she  said,  "when  your  father  is 
not  here.  Two  women  are  not  much  good." 

"Oh,"  said  the  younger  woman,  "I'd  cheerfully 
kill  a  wolf  or  a  Prussian  if  necessary." 

And  she  glanced  at  a  heavy  revolver  hanging 
above  the  hearth. 

Her  husband  had  been  called  upon  to  serve  in 
the  army  at  the  beginning  of  the  Prussian  invasion, 
and  the  two  women  had  remained  alone  with  the  old 
father,  a  keeper  named  Nicolas  Pichon,  sometimes 
calkd  Long-legs,  who  refused  obstinately  to  leave 
his  home  and  take  refuge  in  the  town. 

This  town  was  Rethel,  an  ancient  stronghold 
built  on  a  rock.  Its  inhabitants  were  patriotic,  and 
had  made  up  their  minds  to  resist  the  invaders,  to 
fortify  their  native  place,  and,  if  need  be,  to  stand 
a  siege  as  in  the  good  old  days.  Twice  already, 
under  Henri  IV  and  under  Louis  XIV,  the  people 
of  Rethel  had  distinguished  themselves  by  their 
heroic  defense  of  their  town.  They  would  do  as 
much  now,  they  said,  or  be  killed  in  their  own 
houses. 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR  287 

They  had,  therefore,  bought  cannon  and  rifles, 
organized  a  militia,  and  formed  themselves  into  bat- 
talions and  companies,  and  now  spent  their  time 
drilling  all  day  long  in  the  square.  Everyone — 
bakers,  grocers,  butchers,  lawyers,  carpenters,  book- 
sellers, chemists — took  his  turn  at  military  training, 
at  regular  hours  of  the  day,  under  the  leadership  of 
Monsieur  Lavigne,  a  former  noncommissioned  offi- 
cer in  the  dragoons,  now  a  draper,  having  married 
the  daughter  and  inherited  the  business  of  Monsieur 
Ravaudan,  Senior. 

He  had  taken  the  rank  of  commanding  officer 
in  Rethel,  and,  seeing  that  all  the  young  men  had 
gone  off  to  the  war,  he  had  enlisted  all  the  others 
who  were  in  favor  of  resisting  an  attack.  Fat  men 
now  invariably  walked  the  streets  at  a  rapid  pace, 
to  reduce  their  weight  and  improve  their  breathing, 
and  feeble  men  carried  weights  to  strengthen  their 
muscles. 

And  they  awaited  the  Prussians.  But  the  Prus- 
sians did  not  appear.  They  were  not  far  off,  how- 
ever, for  twice  already  their  scouts  had  penetrated 
as  far  as  the  forest  dwelling  of  Nicolas  Pichon, 
called  Long-legs. 

The  old  keeper,  who  could  run  like  a  fox,  had 
come  and  warned  the  town.  The  guns  had  been  got 
ready,  but  the  enemy  had  not  shown  them- 
selves. 

Long-legs's  dwelling  served  as  an  outpost  in  the 
Aveline  forest.  Twice  a  week  the  old  man  went  to 


288  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

the  town  for  provisions  and  brought  the  citizens 
news  of  the  outlying  district. 

On  this  particular  day  he  had  gone  to  announce 
the  fact  that  a  small  detachment  of  German  in- 
fantry had  stopped  at  his  house  the  day  before, 
about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  had  left 
again  almost  immediately.  The  noncommissioned 
officer  in  charge  spoke  French. 

When  the  old  man  set  out  like  this  he  took  with 
him  his  dogs — two  powerful  animals  with  the  jaws 
of  lions — as  a  safeguard  against  the  wolves,  which 
were  beginning  to  be  fierce,  and  he  left  directions 
with  the  two  women  to  barricade  themselves  se- 
curely within  their  dwelling  as  soon  as  night  fell. 

The  younger  feared  nothing,  but  her  mother  was 
always  apprehensive,  and  repeated  continually: 

"We'll  come  to  grief  one  of  these  days.  You 
see  if  we  don't!" 

This  evening  she  was  more  nervous  than  ever. 

"Do  you  know  what  time  your  father  will  be 
back?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  not  before  eleven.  When  he  dines  with  the 
commandant  he's  always  late." 

And  Berthine  was  hanging  her  pot  over  the  fire 
to  warm  the  soup  when  she  suddenly  stood  still, 
listening  attentively  to  a  sound  that  had  reached 
her  through  the  chimney. 

"There  are  people  walking  in  the  wood,"  she 
said;  "seven  or  eight  men  at  least,  and  they  are 
coming  this  way." 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR  289 

The  terrified  old  woman  stopped  her  spinning- 
wheel,  and  gasped: 

"Oh,  my  God !    And  your  father  not  here !" 

She  had  scarcely  finished  speaking  when  a  suc- 
cession of  violent  blows  shook  the  door. 

As  the  woman  made  no  reply,  a  loud,  guttural 
voice  shouted: 

"Open  the  door!" 

After  a  brief  silence  the  same  voice  repeated: 

"Open  the  door  or  I'll  break  it  down!" 

Berthine  took  the  heavy  revolver  from  its  hook, 
slipped  it  into  the  pocket  of  her  skirt,  and,  putting 
Jier  ear  to  the  door,  asked : 

"Who  are  you?" 

"The  detachment  that  came  here  yesterday,"  re- 
plied the  voice. 

"What  do  you  want?"  demanded  the  young 
woman. 

"My  men  and  I  have  lost  our  way  in  the  forest 
since  morning.  Open  the  door  or  I'll  break  it 
down !" 

The  forester's  daughter  had  no  choice ;  she  drew 
back  the  heavy  bolts,  threw  open  the  ponderous 
shutter,  and  perceived  in  the  wan  light  of  the  snow 
six  men,  Prussian  soldiers,  the  same  who  had  visited 
the  house  the  day  before. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  at  this  time  of 
night?"  she  asked  dauntlessly. 

"I  lost  my  bearings,"  replied  the  officer;  "lost 


290  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

them  completely.  Then  I  recognized  this  house. 
I've  eaten  nothing  since  morning,  and  neither  have 
my  men." 

"But  I'm  quite  alone  with  my  mother  this  even- 
ing," said  Berthine. 

"Never  mind,"  replied  the  soldier,  who  seemed 
a  decent  sort  of  fellow.  "We  won't  do  you  any 
harm,  but  you  must  give  us  something  to  eat.  We 
are  nearly  dead  with  hunger  and  fatigue." 

Then  the  girl  moved  aside. 

"Come  in,"  she  said. 

They  entered,  covered  with  snow,  their  helmets 
sprinkled  with  a  creamy-looking  froth,  which  gave 
them  the  appearance  of  meringues.  They  seemed 
completely  exhausted. 

The  young  woman  pointed  to  the  wooden  benches 
on  either  side  of  the  large  table. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said,  "and  I'll  make  you  some 
soup.  You  certainly  look  tired,  and  no  mistake." 

Then  she  bolted  the  door  again. 

She  put  more  water  in  the  pot,  added  butter  and 
potatoes ;  then,  taking  down  a  piece  of  bacon  from 
a  hook  in  the  chimney  corner,  cut  it  in  two  and 
slipped  half  of  it  into  the  pot. 

The  six  men  watched  her  movements  with  hun- 
gry eyes.  They  had  placed  their  rifles  and  helmets 
in  a  corner  and  waited  for  supper,  as  well  behaved 
as  children  on  a  school  bench. 

The  old  mother  had  resumed  her  spinning,  cast- 
ing from  time  to  time  a  furtive  and  uneasy  glance 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR  291 

at  the  soldiers.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard  save  the 
humming  of  the  wheel,  the  crackling  of  the  fire, 
and  the  singing  of  the  water  in  the  pot. 

But  suddenly  a  strange  noise — a  sound  like  the 
harsh  breathing  of  some  wild  animal  sniffing 
under  the  door — startled  the  occupants  of  the 
room. 

The  German  officer  sprang  toward  the  rifles. 
Berthine  stopped  him  with  a  gesture,  and  said,  smil- 
ingly : 

"It's  only  the  wolves.  They  are  like  you — 
prowling  through  the  forest." 

The  incredulous  man  wanted  to  see  with  his  own 
eyes,  and  as  soon  as  the  door  was  opened  he  per- 
ceived two  large  grayish  animals  disappearing  with 
long,  swinging  trot  into  the  darkness. 

He  returned  to  his  seat,  muttering: 

"I  wouldn't  have  believed  it!" 

And  he  waited  quietly  till  supper  was  ready. 

The  men  devoured  their  meal  voraciously,  with 
mouths  stretched  to  their  ears  that  they  might  swal- 
low the  more.  Their  round  eyes  opened  at  the  same 
time  as  their  jaws,  and  as  the  soup  coursed  down 
their  throats  it  made  a  noise  like  the  gurgling  of 
water  in  a  rainpipe. 

The  two  women  watched  in  silence  the  move- 
ments of  the  big  blond  beards.  The  potatoes  seemed 
to  be  engulfed  in  these  moving  fleeces. 

But,  as  they  were  thirsty,  the  forester's  daugh- 
ter went  down  to  the  cellar  to  draw  them  some 


292  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

cider.  She  was  gone  some  time.  The  cellar  was 
small,  with  an  arched  ceiling,  and  had  served,  so 
people  said,  as  both  prison  and  hiding-place  dur- 
ing the  Revolution.  It  was  approached  by  means 
of  a  narrow,  winding  staircase,  closed  by  a  trap- 
door at  the  farther  end  of  the  kitchen. 

When  Berthine  returned  she  was  smiling  mys- 
teriously to  herself.  She  gave  the  Germans  her  jug 
of  cider. 

Then  she  and  her  mother  ate  apart,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  kitchen. 

The  soldiers  had  finished  eating,  and  were  all  six 
falling  asleep  as  they  sat  round  the  table.  Every 
now  and  then  a  forehead  fell  with  a  thud  on  the 
board,  and  the  man,  awakened  suddenly,  sat  up- 
right again. 

Berthine  said  to  the  officer : 

"Go  and  lie  down,  all  of  you,  round  the  fire. 
There  is  plenty  of  room  for  six.  I'm  going  up  to 
my  room  with  my  mother." 

And  the  two  women  went  upstairs.  They  could 
be  heard  locking  the  door  and  walking  about  over- 
head for  a  time;  then  they  were  silent. 

The  Prussians  lay  down  on  the  floor,  with  their 
feet  to  the  fire  and  their  heads  resting  on  their 
rolled-up  cloaks.  Soon  all  six  snored  loudly  and 
uninterruptedly  in  six  different  keys. 

They  had  been  sleeping  for  some  time  when  a 
shot  rang  out  so  loudly  that  it  seemed  directed 
against  the  very  walls  of  the  house.  The  soldiers 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR  293 

rose  hastily.  Two — then  three — more  shots  were 
fired. 

The  door  opened  hastily,  and  Berthine  appeared, 
barefooted  and  only  half  dressed,  with  her  candle 
in  her  hand  and  a  scared  look  on  her  face. 

"There  are  the  French,"  she  stammered;  "at 
least  two  hundred  of  them.  If  they  find  you  here 
they'll  burn  the  house  down.  For  God's  sake,  hurry 
down  into  the  cellar,  and  don't  make  a  sound,  what- 
ever you  do.  If  you  make  any  noise  we  are  lost." 

"We'll  go,  we'll  go,"  replied  the  terrified  officer. 
"Which  is  the  way?" 

The  young  woman  hurriedly  raised  the  small, 
square  trap-door,  and  the  six  men  disappeared  one 
after  another  down  the  narrow,  winding  staircase, 
feeling  their  way  as  they  went. 

But  as  soon  as  the  spike  of  the  last  helmet  was 
out  of  sight  Berthine  lowered  the  heavy  oaken  lid 
— thick  as  a  wall,  hard  as  steel,  furnished  with  the 
hinges  and  bolts  of  a  prison  cell — shot  the  two 
heavy  bolts,  and  began  to  laugh  long  and  silently, 
possessed  with  a  mad  longing  to  dance  above  the 
heads  of  her  prisoners. 

They  made  no  sound,  inclosed  in  the  cellar  as  in 
a  strong  box,  obtaining  air  only  from  a  small,  iron- 
barred  vent-hole. 

Berthine  lighted  her  fire  again,  hung  the  pot  over 
it,  and  prepared  more  soup,  saying  to  herself : 

"Father  will  be  tired  to-night." 

Then  she  sat  and  waited.    The  heavy  pendulum 


294  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

of  the  clock  swung  to  and  fro  with  a  monotonous 
tick. 

At  times  the  young  woman  cast  an  impatient 
glance  at  the  dial — a  glance  which  seemed  to  say: 

"I  wish  he  would  be  quick !" 

But  soon  there  was  a  sound  of  voices  beneath  her 
feet.  Low,  confused  words  reached  her  through 
the  masonry  which  roofed  the  cellar.  The  Prus- 
sians were  beginning  to  suspect  the  trick  she  had 
played  them,  and  presently  the  officer  came  up  the 
narrow  staircase,  and  knocked  at  the  trapdoor. 

"Open  the  door!"  he  cried. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  said,  rising  from  her 
seat  and  approaching  the  cellarway. 

"Open  the  door!" 

"I  will  not!" 

"Open  it  or  I'll  break  it  down!"  shouted  the 
man  angrily. 

She  laughed. 

"Hammer  away,  my  good  man!  Hammer  away!" 

He  struck  with  the  butt-end  of  his  gun  at  the 
closed  oaken  door.  But  it  would  have  resisted  a 
battering-ram. 

The  forester's  daughter  heard  him  go  down  the 
stairs  again.  Then  the  soldiers  came  one  after  an- 
other and  tried  their  strength  against  the  trap- 
door. But,  finding  their  efforts  useless,  they  all  re- 
turned to  the  cellar  and  began  to  talk  among  them- 
selves. 

The  young  woman  heard  them  for  a  short  time, 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR  295 

then  she  rose,  opened  the  door  of  the  house,  looked 
out  into  the  night,  and  listened. 

A  sound  of  distant  barking  reached  her  ear.  She 
whistled  just  as  a  huntsman  would,  and  almost  im- 
mediately two  great  dogs  emerged  from  the  dark- 
ness, and  bound  to  her  side.  She  held  them  tight, 
and  shouted  at  the  top  of  her  voice: 

"Hello,  father!" 

A  far-off  voice  replied: 

"Hello,  Berthine!" 

She  waited  a  few  seconds,  then  repeated : 

"Hello,  father!" 

The  voice,  nearer  now,  replied: 

"Hello,  Berthine!" 

"Don't  go  in  front  of  the  vent-hole!"  shouted 
his  daughter.  "There  are  Prussians  in  the  cellar!" 

Suddenly  the  man's  tall  figure  could  be  seen  to 
the  left,  standing  between  two  tree  trunks. 

"Prussians  in  the  cellar?"  he  asked  anxiously. 
"What  are  they  doing?" 

The  young  woman  laughed. 

"They  are  the  same  that  were  here  yesterday. 
They  lost  their  way,  and  I've  given  them  free  lodg- 
ings in  the  cellar." 

She  told  the  story  of  how  she  had  alarmed  them 
by  firing  the  revolver,  and  had  shut  them  up  in  the 
cellar. 

The  man,  still  serious,  asked : 

"But  what  am  I  to  do  with  them  at  this  time  of 
night?" 


296  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Go  and  fetch  Monsieur  Lavigne  with  his  men," 
she  replied.  "He'll  take  them  prisoners.  He'll  be 
delighted." 

Her  father  smiled. 

"So  he  will— delighted." 

"Here's  some  soup  for  you,"  said  his  daugh- 
ter. "Eat  it  quick,  and  then  be  off." 

The  old  keeper  sat  down  at  the  table,  and  began 
to  eat  his  soup,  having  first  filled  two  plates  and  put 
them  on  the  floor  for  the  dogs. 

The  Prussians,  hearing  voices,  were  silent. 

"Long-legs  set  off  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later, 
and  Berthine,  with  her  head  between  her  hands, 
waited. 

The  prisoners  began  to  make  themselves  heard 
again.  They  shouted,  called,  and  beat  furiously 
with  the  butts  of  their  muskets  against  the  rigid 
trap-door  of  the  cellar. 

Then  they  fired  shots  through  the  vent-hole,  hop- 
ing, no  doubt,  to  be  heard  by  any  German  detach- 
ment which  chanced  to  be  passing  that  way. 

The  forester's  daughter  did  not  stir,  but  the 
noise  irritated  and  unnerved  her.  Blind  anger  rose 
in  her  heart  against  the  prisoners ;  she  would  have 
been  only  too  glad  to  kill  them  all,  and  so  silence 
them. 

Then,  as  her  impatience  grew,  she  watched  the 
clock,  counting  the  minutes  as  they  passed. 

Her  father  had  been  gone  an  hour  and  a  half. 
He  must  have  reached  the  town  by  now.  She  con- 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR  297 

jured  up  a  vision  of  him  telling  the  story  to  Mon- 
sieur Lavigne,  who  grew  pale  with  emotion,  and 
rang  for  his  servant  to  bring  him  his  arms  and  uni- 
form. She  fancied  she  could  hear  the  drum  as  it 
sounded  the  call  to  arms.  Frightened  faces  ap- 
peared at  the  windows.  The  citizen-soldiers 
emerged  from  their  houses  half  dressed,  out  of 
breath,  buckling  on  their  belts,  and  hurrying  to  the 
commandant's  house. 

Then  the  troop  of  soldiers,  with  Long-legs  at 
its  head,  set  forth  through  the  night  and  the  snow 
toward  the  forest. 

She  looked  at  the  clock.  "They  may  be  here 
in  an  hour." 

A  nervous  impatience  possessed  her.  The  min- 
utes seemed  endless.  Would  the  time  never  come? 

At  last  the  clock  marked  the  moment  she  had 
fixed  on  for  their  arrival. 

And  she  opened  the  door  to  listen  for  their  ap- 
proach. She  perceived  a  shadowy  form  creeping 
toward  the  house.  She  was  afraid,  and  cried  out. 
But  it  was  her  father. 

"They  have  sent  me,"  he  said,  "to  see  whether 
there  is  any  change  in  the  state  of  affairs." 

"No— none." 

Then  he  gave  a  shrill  whistle.  Soon  a  dark 
mass  loomed  up  under  the  trees :  the  advance  guard, 
composed  of  ten  men. 

"Don't  go  in  front  of  the  vent-hole!"  repeated 
Long-legs  at  intervals. 

Vol.  1—20 


298  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

And  the  first  arrivals  pointed  out  the  much- 
dreaded  vent-hole  to  those  who  came  after. 

At  last  the  main  body  of  the  troop  arrived,  in  all 
two  hundred  men,  each  carrying  two  hundred  cart- 
ridges. 

Monsieur  Lavigne,  in  a  state  intense  excite- 
ment, posted  them  in  such  a  fashion  as  to  surround 
the  whole  house,  save  for  a  large  space  left  vacant 
in  front  of  the  little  hole  on  a  level  with  the  ground, 
through  which  the  cellar  derived  its  supply  of  air. 

Monsieur  Lavigne  struck  the  trap-door  a  blow 
with  his  foot,  and  called : 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  the  Prussian  officer!" 
.  The  German  did  not  reply. 

"The  Prussian  officer!"  again  shouted  the  com- 
mandant. 

Still  no  response.  For  the  space  of  twenty  min- 
utes Monsieur  Lavigne  called  on  this  silent  officer 
to  surrender,  promising  him  that  all  lives  should 
be  spared,  and  that  he  and  his  men  should  be  ac- 
corded military  honors.  But  he  could  extort  no  sign, 
either  of  consent  or  of  defiance.  The  situation  be- 
came puzzling. 

The  citizen-soldiers  kicked  their  heels  in  the 
snow,  slapping  their  arms  across  their  chest,  as  cab- 
drivers  do,  to  warm  themselves,  and  gazing  at  the 
vent-hole  with  a  growing  and  childish  desire  to  pass 
in  front  of  it. 

At  last  one  of  them  took  the  risk — a  man  named 
Potdevin,  who  was  fleet  of  limb.  He  ran  like  a  deer 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR  299 

across  the  zone  of  danger.  The  experiment  suc- 
ceeded. The  prisoners  gave  no  sign  of  life. 

A  voice  cried: 

"  No  one  is  there !  " 

Another  soldier  crossed  the  open  space  before 
the  dangerous  vent-hole.  Then  this  hazardous  sport 
developed  into  a  game.  Every  minute  a  man  ran 
swiftly  from  one  side  to  the  other,  like  a  boy  play- 
ing baseball,  kicking  up  the  snow  behind  him  as 
he  ran.  They  had  lighted  big  fires  of  dead  wood 
at  which  to  warm  themselves,  and  the  figures  of  the 
runners  were  illumined  by  the  flames  as  they  passed 
rapidly  from  the  camp  on  the  right  to  that  on  the 
left. 

Some  one  shouted:  "It's  your  turn  now,  Ma- 
loison." 

Maloison  was  a  fat  baker,  whose  corpulent  per- 
son served  to  point  many  a  joke  among  his  com- 
rades. 

He  hesitated.  They  jeered  at  him.  Then,  nerving 
himself  to  the  effort,  he  set  off  at  a  little,  waddling 
gait,  which  shook  his  fat  paunch  and  made  the 
whole  detachment  laugh  till  they  cried. 

"Bravo,  bravo,  Maloison  1"  they  shouted  for  his 
encouragement. 

He  had  accomplished  about  two  thirds  of  his 
journey  when  a  long,  crimson  flame  shot  forth  from 
the  vent-hole.  A  loud  report  followed,  and  the  fat 
baker  fell  face  forward  to  the  ground,  uttering  a 
frightful  scream. 


300  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

No  one  went  to  his  assistance.  Then  he  was 
seen  to  drag  himself,  groaning,  on  all  fours  through 
the  snow  until  he  was  beyond  danger,  when  he 
fainted. 

He  was  shot  in  the  upper  part  of  the  thigh. 

After  the  first  surprise  and  fright  were  over 
they  laughed  at  him  again. 

But  Monsieur  Lavigne  appeared  on  the  threshold 
of  the  forester's  dwelling.  He  had  formed  his 
plan  of  attack.  He  called  in  a  loud  voice: 

"I  want  Planchut,  the  plumber,  and  his  work- 
men." 

Three  men  approached. 

"Take  the  eaves-troughs  from  the  roof." 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  brought  the  com- 
mandant thirty  yards  of  pipes. 

Next,  with  infinite  precaution,  he  had  a  small 
round  hole  drilled  in  the  trap-door ;  then,  making  a 
conduit  with  the  troughs  from  the  pump  to  this 
opening,  he  said,  with  an  air  of  extreme  satisfac- 
tion: 

"Now  we'll  give  these  German  gentlemen  some- 
thing to  drink." 

A  shout  of  frenzied  admiration,  mingled  with  up- 
roarious laughter,  burst  from  his  followers.  And 
the  commandant  organized  relays  of  men,  who  were 
to  relieve  one  another  every  five  minutes.  Then  he 
commanded : 

"Pump!" 

And,  the  pump-handle  having  been  set  in  motion, 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR  301 

a  stream  of  water  trickled  throughout  the  length  of 
the  piping,  and  flowed  from  step  to  step  down  the 
cellar  stairs  with  a  gentle,  gurgling  sound. 

They  waited. 

An  hour  passed,  then  two,  then  three. 

The  commandant,  in  a  state  of  feverish  agita- 
tion, walked  up  and  down  the  kitchen,  putting  his 
ear  to  the  ground  every  now  and  then  to  discover, 
if  possible,  what  the  enemy  were  doing  and  whether 
they  would  capitulate. 

The  enemy  were  astir  now.  They  could  be 
heard  moving  the  casks  about,  talking,  splashing 
through  the  water. 

Then,  after  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  a  voice 
said  from  the  vent-hole: 

"I  want  to  speak  to  the  French  officer." 

Lavigne  replied  from  the  window,  taking  care 
not  to  put  his  head  out  too  far : 

"Do  you  surrender?" 

"I  surrender." 

"Then  put  your  rifles  outside." 

A  rifle  immediately  protruded  from  the  hole,  and 
fell  into  the  snow,  then  another  and  another,  until 
all  were  disposed  of.  And  the  voice  which  had 
spoken  before  said: 

"I  have  no  more.    Be  quick !    I  am  drowning." 

"Stop  pumping!"  ordered  the  commandant. 

The  pump-handle  hung  motionless. 

Then,  having  filled  the  kitchen  with  armed  and 
waiting  soldiers,  he  slowly  raised  the  oaken  door. 


302  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Four  heads  appeared,  soaking  wet,  four  blond 
heads  with  long,  fair  hair,  and  one  after  another 
the  six  Germans  emerged — scared,  shivering,  and 
dripping  from  head  to  foot. 

They  were  seized  and  bound.  Then,  as  the 
French  feared  a  surprise,  they  set  off  at  once  in  two 
convoys,  one  in  charge  of  the  prisoners,  and  the 
other  conducting  Maloison  on  a  mattress  borne  on 
poles. 

They  made  a  triumphal  entry  into  Rethel. 

Monsieur  Lavigne  was  decorated  as  a  reward  for 
having  captured  a  Prussian  advance  guard,  and  the 
fat  baker  received  the  military  metal  for  wounds 
received  at  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 


WOMAN'S  LOVE 

THE  dinner  that  opened  the  hunt  was  at  an 
end.  The  Marquis  de  Bertrans  sat  with  his 
guests  around  a  brightly  lighted  table,  covered 
with  fruits  and  flowers.  The  conversation  drifted 
to  the  subject  of  love.  Immediately  an  animated 
discussion  arose,  the  same  eternal  discussion  as  to 
whether  it  is  possible  to  love  more  than  once.  Ex- 
amples were  given  of  persons  who  had  loved  only 
once ;  these  were  offset  by  stories  of  those  who  had 
loved  violently  many  times.  The  men  agreed  that 
passion,  like  illness,  may  attack  the  same  person 
several  times,  unless  it  strikes  to  kill.  This  con- 
clusion seemed  quite  incontestable.  But  the  women, 
who  based  their  opinion  on  poetry  rather  than  on 
practical  observation,  maintained  that  love,  the 
great  passion,  comes  only  once  to  mortals.  Love 
resembles  powder,  they  said.  A  heart  once  touched 
with  it  becomes  forever  so  ravaged,  so  consumed, 
that  no  other  strong  sentiment  can  find  rest  in  it, 
not  even  a  dream. 

The  Marquis,  who  had  indulged  in  many  love  af- 
fairs, disputed  this  belief. 

303 


304  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"I  tell  you  it  is  possible  to  love  several  times 
with  all  one's  heart  and  soul.  You  quote  examples 
of  persons  who  have  killed  themselves  to  prove  the 
impossibility  of  feeling  a  second  passion.  I  wager 
that  if  they  had  not  foolishly  committed  suicide  and 
so  destroyed  the  possibility  of  a  second  experience 
they  would  have  found  a  new  love,  and  still  an- 
other and  another  till  death.  It  is  with  love  as  with 
drink.  He  that  has  once  indulged  is  a  slave  forever. 
It  is  a  matter  of  temperament." 

They  chose  the  old  Doctor  as  arbitrator.  He 
agreed  with  the  Marquis,  that  it  is  a  matter  of  tem- 
perament. 

"As  for  me,"  he  said,  "I  once  knew  of  a  love 
that  lasted  fifty-five  years  without  one  day's  cessa- 
tion, which  ended  only  with  death."  The  Marquis' 
wife  clasped  her  hands. 

"How  beautiful!  Ah,  what  a  dream  to  be  loved 
like  that !  What  bliss  to  live  for  fifty-five  years  en- 
veloped in  an  unwavering,  penetrating  affection! 
How  this  happy  being  must  have  blessed  her  life,  to 
be  so  adored!" 

The  Doctor  smiled. 

"You  are  mistaken,  Madame,  on  that  point — the 
loved  one  was  a  man.  You  even  know  him;  it  is 
Monsieur  Chonquet,  the  chemist.  As  to  the  woman, 
you  knew  her  also — the  old  chair-mender,  who 
came  every  year  to  the  Chateau."  The  enthusiasm 
of  the  women  faded.  Some  expressed  their  con- 
tempt with  "Pooh!"  for  the  love  of  common  per- 


WOMAN'S  LOVE  305 

sons  did  not  interest  them.  The  Doctor  continued : 
"Three  months  ago  I  was  called  to  the  deathbed  of 
the  old  chair-mender.  The  priest  had  preceded 
me.  She  wished  to  make  us  the  executors  of  her 
will.  In*  order  that  we  might  understand  her  con- 
duct, she  told  us  the  story  of  her  life.  It  was  most 
singular  and  touching.  Her  father  and  mother  were 
chair-menders.  She  never  had  lived  long  in  any 
one  place.  As  a  little  child  she  wandered  about  with 
them,  dirty,  neglected,  and  hungry.  They  visited 
many  towns,  leaving  their  horse,  wagon,  and  dog 
outside  the  limits,  where  the  child  played  in  the 
grass  alone  until  her  parents  had  mended  all  the 
broken  chairs  in  the  place.  They  seldom  spoke, 
except  to  cry,  'Chairs !  Chairs  1  Have  your  chairs 
mended !' 

"When  the  little  one  strayed  too  far  away,  she 
was  called  back  by  the  harsh,  angry  voice  of  her 
father.  She  never  heard  a  word  of  affection.  When 
she  grew  older,  she  fetched  and  carried  the  broken 
chairs.  Then  it  was  that  she  made  friends  with 
the  little  street  urchins,  but  their  parents  always 
called  them  away  and  scolded  them  for  speaking 
to  the  barefooted  mender.  Often  the  boys  threw 
stones  at  her.  Once  a  kind  woman  gave  her  a  few 
sous.  She  saved  them  carefully. 

"One  day — she  was  then  eleven  years  old — as 
she  picked  her  way  through  a  country  town  she  met, 
behind  the  cemetery,  the  little  Chonquet,  weeping 
bitterly,  because  one  of  his  playmates  had  stolen  two 


306  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

precious  sous.  The  tears  of  the  small  villager,  one 
of  those  much-envied  mortals  who,  she  imagined, 
never  knew  trouble,  greatly  disturbed  her.  She  ap- 
proached him  and,  bowing,  asked  the  cause  of  his 
grief,  and  put  into  his  hands  all  her  savings.  He 
took  them  without  hesitation  and  dried  his  eyes. 
Wild  with  joy,  she  kissed  him.  He  was  busy  count- 
ing his  money,  and  did  not  object.  Seeing  that 
she  was  not  repulsed,  she  began  again  to  kiss  him 
and  even  gave  him  a  tremendous  hug — then  she  ran 
away. 

"What  was  passing  in  her  poor  little  head?  Was 
it  because  she  had  sacrificed  all  her  fortune  that 
she  became  madly  fond  of  him,  or  was  it  because 
she  had  given  him  her  first  tender  kiss  ?  The  mys- 
tery is  alike  for  children  and  for  those  of  riper 
years.  For  months  she  dreamed  of  that  corner 
near  the  cemetery  and  of  the  little  village  boy.  She 
stole  small  coins  from  her  parents  to  give  to  him 
at  their  next  meeting.  When  she  returned  to  the 
spot  near  the  cemetery,  he  was  not  there.  Passing 
his  father's  shop,  she  caught  sight  of  him  behind 
the  counter.  He  was  sitting  between  a  large  red 
globe  and  a  blue  one.  She  only  loved  him  the 
more,  and  wrought  up  to  an  ecstasy  by  the  sight 
of  him  surrounded  by  the  brilliant-colored  globes, 
she  nearly  fainted  with  emotion.  She  cherished 
forever  in  her  heart  this  beautiful  sight.  The  fol- 
lowing year  she  met  him  near  the  school,  playing 
marbles.  She  threw  herself  on  him,  took  him  in 


WOMAN'S  LOVE  307 

her  arms,  and  kissed  him  so  passionately  that  he 
cried  aloud.  To  quiet  him,  she  gave  him  all  her 
money.  Three  francs!  A  veritable  gold  mine,  at 
which  he  gazed  with  staring  eyes. 

"After  this  he  allowed  her  to  caress  him  as 
much  as  she  wished.  During  the  next  four  years 
she  put  into  his  hands  all  her  savings,  which  he 
pocketed  conscientiously  in  exchange  for  kisses.  At 
one  time  it  was  thirty  sous,  at  another  two  francs. 
Again,  she  only  had  twelve  sous.  She  wept  with 
grief  and  shame,  explaining  brokenly  that  it  had 
been  a  bad  year.  The  next  time  she  brought  five 
francs,  in  one  whole  piece,  which  made  her  laugh 
with  delight.  She  no  longer  thought  of  anyone 
but  the  boy,  and  he  watched  for  her  with  impa- 
tience ;  sometimes  he  would  run  to  meet  her.  This 
made  her  heart  throb  with  joy.  Suddenly  he  dis- 
appeared. He  had  gone  to  boarding-school.  She 
found  this  out  by  careful  investigation.  She  soon 
ingratiated  herself  with  his  parents  and  used  her 
diplomacy  in  order  that  they  might  call  him  home 
for  the  holidays.  After  a  year  of  intrigue  she  met 
with  success.  She  had  not  seen  him  for  two  years, 
and  hardly  recognized  him,  he  was  so  changed — 
tall,  beautiful,  and  dignified  in  his  uniform,  with 
its  brass  buttons.  He  pretended  not  to  know  her: 
and  passed  by  without  a  glance.  She  wept  for  two 
days  and  after  that  she  loved  and  suffered  until  the 
end. 

"Every  year  he  returned  and  she  passed  him, 


308  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

not  daring  to  lift  her  eyes.  He  never  condescended 
to  turn  his  head  toward  her.  She  loved  him  madly, 
hopelessly.  She  said  to  me: 

"  'He  is  the  only  man  whom  I  have  ever  seen. 
I  don't  even  know  whether  another  exists.'  Her 
parents  died  and  she  continued  their  work. 

"One  day,  on  entering  the  village,  where  her 
heart  always  remained,  she  saw  Chonquet  coming 
out  of  his  pharmacy  with  a  young  lady  leaning  on 
his  arm.  She  was  his  bride.  That  night  the  chair- 
mender  threw  herself  into  the  river.  A  drunkard 
passing  the  spot  pulled  her  out  and  took  her  to  the 
pharmacy.  Young  Chonquet  came  down  in  his 
dressing-gown  to  revive  her.  Without  seeming  to 
know  who  she  was,  he  undressed  her  and  rubbed 
her ;  then  he  said,  in  a  harsh  voice : 

"  'You  are  crazy !  People  must  not  do  stupid 
things  like  that.'  His  voice  brought  her  to  life 
again,  and  she  was  happy  for  a  long  time.  He  re- 
fused remuneration  for  his  trouble,  although  she 
insisted  on  paying  him. 

"All  her  life  passed  in  this  way.  She  worked, 
thinking  always  of  him.  She  began  to  buy  medi- 
cines at  his  pharmacy;  this  gave  her  a  chance  to 
talk  to  him  and  to  see  him  closely.  In  a  way,  she 
was  still  able  to  give  him  money. 

"As  I  said  before,  she  died  this  spring.  When 
she  had  finished  her  pathetic  story  she  entreated  me 
to  take  her  earnings  to  the  man  she  loved.  She  had 
worked  only  that  she  might  leave  him  something  to 


WOMAN'S  LOVE  309 

remind  him  of  her  after  death.  I  gave  the  priest 
fifty  francs  for  her  funeral  expenses.  The  next 
morning  I  took  the  rest  of  the  money  to  Monsieur 
Chonquet  as  he  was  finishing  his  breakfast.  His 
wife  sat  at  the  table,  fat  and  red,  important  and 
self-satisfied.  They  welcomed  me  and  offered  me 
some  coffee,  which  I  accepted.  Then  I  began  my 
story  in  a  trembling  voice,  sure  that  they  would 
be  softened,  even  to  tears.  As  soon  as  Chonquet 
understood  that  he  had  been  loved  by  'that  vaga- 
bond! that  chair-mender!  that  stroller!'  he  swore 
with  indignation,  as  if  his  reputation  had  been  sul- 
lied, the  respect  of  decent  people  lost,  his  personal 
honor,  something  precious  and  dearer  to  him  than 
life,  gone.  His  exasperated  wife  kept  repeating: 
'That  thing!  That  creature!' 

"Seeming  unable  to  find  words  suitable  to  the 
enormity,  he  rose  and  began  striding  about.  He 
muttered:  'Can  you  understand  anything  so  hor- 
rible, Doctor?  If  I  had  only  known  it  while  she 
was  alive,  I  should  nave  had  her  thrown  into  prison. 
I  assure  you,  she  would  not  have  escaped.' 

"I  was  dumbfounded;  I  hardly  knew  what  to 
think  or  say,  but  I  had  to  finish  my  mission.  'She 
commissioned  me,'  I  said,  'to  give  you  her  savings, 
which  amount  to  three  thousand  five  hundred 
francs.  As  what  I  have  just  told  you  seems  to  be 
very  disagreeable,  perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  give 
this  money  to  the  poor.' 

"The  man  and  the  woman  looked  at  me  speech- 


310  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

less  with  amazement.  I  took  the  few  thousand 
francs  from  my  pocket.  Wretched-looking  money 
from  every  country.  Coppers  and  gold  pieces  were 
mingled  together. 

"  'What  is  your  decision?'  I  asked. 

"Madame  Chonquet  spoke  first.  'Well,  since  it 
was  the  dying  woman's  wish,  it  seems  to  me  impos- 
sible to  refuse  it/ 

"Her  husband  said,  in  a  shamefaced  manner: 
'We  could  purchase  something  for  our  children 
with  it/ 

"  'As  you  wish/  I  answered  dryly. 

"He  replied:  'Well,  give  it  to  us  anyhow,  since 
she  commissioned  you  to  do  so ;  we  will  find  a  way 
to  use  it  for  some  good  purpose/ 

"I  gave  them  the  money,  bowed  and  departed. 

"The  next  day  Chonquet  came  to  me  and  said 
brusquely : 

"  'That  women  left  her  wagon  here — what  have 
you  done  with  it?' 

"  'Nothing;  take  it  if  you  wish/ 

"  'It's  just  what  I  wanted,'  he  said,  and  walked 
off.  I  called  him  back  and  said: 

"  'She  left  her  old  horse  and  two  dogs  also.  Don't 
you  need  them?' 

"He  stared  at  me,  surprised:  'Well,  no!  Really, 
what  could  I  do  with  them?' 

"  'Dispose  of  them  as  you  like/ 

"He  laughed  and  held  out  his  hand  to  me.  I 
shook  it.  What  could  I  do?  The  doctor  and  the 


WOMAN'S  LOVE  311 

chemist  must  not  be  at  enmity.  I  have  kept  the 
dogs.  The  priest  took  the  old  horse.  The  wagon  is 
useful  to  Chonquet,  and  with  the  money  he  has 
bought  railroad  stock.  That  is  the  only  deep,  un- 
failing example  of  love  that  I  have  ever  known  in 
my  whole  existence." 

The  Doctor  looked  up.  The  Marquise,  whose  eyes 
were  full  of  tears,  sighed  and  said: 

"There  is  no  denying  the  fact,  only  women  know 
how  to  love." 


THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT 

ON  opposite  sides  of  the  bed  the  peasant  and 
the  doctor  stood  beside  the  dying  old  woman. 
She  was  calm  and  resigned  and  her  mind  was 
quite  clear  as  she  looked  at  them  and  listened  to 
their  conversation.     She  was  about  to  die,  and  she 
did  not  rebel  at  it,  for  her  time  was  come,  as  she 
was  ninety-two  years  old. 

The  July  sun  streamed  in  through  the  window 
and  the  open  door,  and  cast  its  hot  flames  on  the 
uneven  brown  mud  floor,  which  had  been  stamped 
upon  by  four  generations  of  peasants.  The  smell 
of  fields  came  in  also,  driven  by  the  brisk  wind 
and  parched  by  the  noontide  heat.  The  grasshop- 
pers chirped  themselves  hoarse,  and  filled  the  coun- 
try with  their  shrill  noise,  which  was  like  that  of 
the  wooden  toys  sold  to  children  at  fair  time. 

The  doctor  said :  "Honore,  you  cannot  leave  your 
mother  in  this  state ;  she  may  die  at  any  moment." 
The  peasant,  in  great  distress,  replied :  "  But  I  must 
get  in  my  wheat,  for  it  has  been  lying  on  the 
ground  a  long  time,  and  the  weather  is  just  right 
for  it;  what  do  you  say  about  it,  mother?"  And 

312 


THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT  313 

the  dying  old  woman,  still  tormented  by  her  Nor- 
man avariciousness,  assented  with  her  eyes  and 
forehead,  and  thus  urged  her  son  to  get  in  his 
wheat,  and  to  leave  her  to  die  alone. 

But  the  doctor  was  angry,  and,  stamping  his  foot, 
he  said:  "You  are  no  better  than  a  brute,  do  you 
hear,  and  I  will  not  allow  you  to  do  it,  you  under- 
stand? And  if  you  must  get  in  your  wheat  to- 
day, go  and  bring  Rapet's  wife  and  make  her  look 
after  your  mother;  I  will  have  it,  do  you  under- 
stand me?  If  you  do  not  obey  me,  I  will  let  you 
die  like  a  dog  when  you  are  ill  in  your  turn ;  do  you 
hear?" 

The  peasant,  a  tall,  thin  fellow  with  slow  move- 
ments, who  was  tormented  by  indecision,  by  his 
fear  of  the  doctor  and  his  fierce  love  of  saving,  hesi- 
tated, calculated,  and  stammered:  "How  much  does 
La  Rapet  charge  for  attending  sick  people?"  "How 
should  I  know?"  the  doctor  cried.  "That  depends 
upon  how  long  she  is  needed.  Settle  it  with  her! 
But  I  want  her  to  be  here  within  an  hour,  do  you 
hear?" 

So  the  man  decided.  "I  will  go  for  her,"  he  re- 
plied; "don't  be  angry,  doctor."  And  the  latter 
departed,  calling  out  as  he  went:  "Be  careful,  be 
very  careful,  you  know,  for  I  do  not  joke  when 
I  am  angry !"  As  soon  as  they  were  alone  the  peas- 
ant turned  to  his  mother  and  said  in  a  resigned 
voice :  "  I  will  go  and  fetch  La  Rapet,  as  the  doctor 
will  have  it.  Don't  worry  till  I  get  back." 

Vol.  1—21 


314  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

And  he,  too,  departed. 

La  Rapet,  who  was  an  old  laundress,  watched 
the  dead  and  the  dying  of  the  neighborhood,  and 
as  soon  as  she  had  sewn  her  customers  into  that 
linen  garment  from  which  they  would  emerge  no 
more,  she  took  up  her  irons  to  smooth  out  the 
linen  of  the  living.  Wrinkled  like  a  last  year's 
apple,  spiteful,  envious,  avaricious  with  a  phenom- 
enal avarice,  bent  double,  as  if  she  had  been 
broken  in  half  across  the  loins  by  the  constant  mo- 
tion of  passing  the  iron  over  the  linen,  one  might 
have  said  that  she  had  a  kind  of  abnormal  and 
cynical  love  of  a  death-struggle.  She  never  spoke 
of  anything  but  the  persons  she  had  seen  die,  of 
the  various  kinds  of  deaths  at  which  she  had  been 
present,  and  she  related  with  the  greatest  minute- 
ness details  that  were  always  similar,  just  as  a 
sportsman  recounts  his  luck. 

\Yhen  Honore  Bontemps  entered  her  cottage,  he 
found  her  preparing  the  starch  for  the  collars  of 
the  women  villagers,  and  he  said:  "Good  evening; 
I  hope  you  are  pretty  well,  Mother  Rapet  ?" 

She  turned  her  head  round  to  look  at  him,  and 
said:  "As  usual,  as  usual,  and  you?"  "Oh!  as 
for  me,  I  am  as  well  as  I  could  wish,  but  my  mother 
is  not  well."  "Your  mother?"  "Yes,  my  mother!" 
"What's  the  matter  with  her?"  "She  is  going  to  die, 
that's  what's  the  matter  with  her !" 

The  old  woman  took  her  hands  out  of  the  water 
and  asked  with  sudden  sympathy:  "Is  she  as  bad 


THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT  315 

as  all  that?"  "The  doctor  says  she  will  not  last 
till  morning."  "Then  she  certainly  is  very  bad!" 
Honore  hesitated,  for  he  wished  to  make  a  few 
preparatory  remarks  before  coming  to  his  proposi- 
tion ;  but  as  he  could  hit  upon  nothing,  he  made  up 
his  mind  suddenly. 

"How  much  will  you  ask  to  stay  with  her  till  the 
end?  You  know  that  I  am  not  rich,  and  I  cannot 
even  afford  to  keep  a  maid  servant.  It  is  just  that 
which  has  brought  my  poor  mother  to  this  state — 
too  much  worry  and  fatigue !  She  did  the  work  of 
ten,  in  spite  of  her  ninety-two  years.  You  don't 
find  any  made  of  that  stuff  nowadays !" 

La  Rapet  answered  gravely:  "There  are  two 
prices:  Forty  sous  by  day  and  three  francs  by 
night  for  the  rich,  and  twenty  sous  by  day  and  forty 
by  night  for  the  others.  You  shall  pay  me  the 
twenty  and  forty."  But  the  peasant  reflected,  for 
he  knew  his  mother  well.  He  knew  how  tenacious 
of  life,  how  vigorous  and  unyielding  she  was,  and 
she  might  last  another  week,  in  spite  of  the  doctor's 
opinion;  and  so  he  said  resolutely:  "No,  I  would 
rather  you  would  fix  a  price  for  the  whole  time  un- 
til the  end.  I  will  take  my  chance,  one  way  or  the 
other.  The  doctor  says  she  will  die  very  soon.  If 
that  happens,  so  much  the  better  for  you,  and  so 
much  the  worse  for  her ;  but  if  she  holds  out  till  to- 
morrow or  longer,  so  much  the  better  for  her  and 
so  much  the  worse  for  you !" 

The  nurse  looked  at  the  man  in  astonishment, 


316  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

for  she  had  never  treated  a  death  as  a  speculation, 
and  she  hesitated,  tempted  by  the  idea  of  the  pos- 
sible gain,  but  she  suspected  that  he  wanted  to  play 
her  a  trick.  "I  can  say  nothing  until  I  have  seen 
your  mother,"  she  replied. 

"Then  come  with  me  and  see  her.  " 

She  washed  her  hands,  and  went  with  him  imme- 
diately. 

They  did  not  speak  on  the  road ;  she  walked  with 
short,  hasty  steps,  while  he  strode  on  with  his  long 
legs,  as  if  he  were  crossing  a  brook  at  every  step. 

The  cows  lying  down  in  the  fields,  overcome  by 
the  heat,  raised  their  heads  heavily  and  lowed  feebly 
at  the  two  passers-by,  as  if  to  ask  them  for  some 
green  grass. 

When  they  got  near  the  house,  Honore  Bon- 
temps  murmured:  "Suppose  it  is  all  over?"  And 
the  unconscious  wish  which  he  had  that  it  might  be 
so  showed  itself  in  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

But  the  old  woman  was  not  dead.  She  was  lying 
on  her  back,  on  her  miserable  bed,  her  hands  cov^ 
ered  with  a  purple  cotton  counterpane — horribly 
thin,  knotted  hands,  like  the  claws  of  strange  ani- 
mals, or  like  crabs,  half  closed  by  rheumatism,  fa- 
tigue, and  the  work  of  nearly  a  century  which  she 
had  accomplished. 

La  Rapet  went  up  to  the  bed  and  looked  at  the 
dying  woman,  felt  her  pulse,  tapped  her  on  the 
chest,  listened  to  her  breathing,  and  asked  her  ques- 
tions, so  as  to  hear  her  speak;  and  then,  having 


THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT  317 

looked  at  her  for  some  time,  she  went  out  of  the 
room,  followed  by  Honore.  Her  decided  opinion 
was  that  the  old  woman  would  not  live  through  the 
night.  "Well?"  said  the  son.  And  the  sick-nurse 
replied:  "She  may  last  two  days,  perhaps  three. 
You  will  have  to  give  me  six  francs,  everything  in- 
cluded." 

"Six  francs!  six  francs!"  he  shouted.  "Are  you 
out  of  your  mind?  I  tell  you  that  she  cannot  last 
more  than  five  or  six  hours !"  They  disputed  angrily 
for  some  time,  but  as  the  nurse  said  she  must  go 
home,  for  time  was  going  by,  and  as  his  wheat 
would  not  come  to  the  farmyard  of  its  own  accord, 
he  finally  agreed  to  her  terms. 

"Very  well,  then,  that  is  settled;  six  francs,  in- 
cluding everything,  until  the  corpse  is  taken  out." 

"That  is  settled,  six  francs." 

And  he  went  away,  with  long  strides,  to  his 
wheat  which  was  lying  on  the  ground  under  the  hot 
sun,  while  the  nurse  went  into  the  house  again. 

She  had  brought  some  work  with  her,  for  she 
worked  without  ceasing  by  the  side  of  the  dead  and 
dying,  sometimes  for  herself,  sometimes  for  the 
family  which  employed  her  as  seamstress  and  paid 
her  rather  more  in  that  capacity.  Suddenly  she 
asked:  "Have  you  received  the  last  sacraments, 
Mother  Bontemps?" 

The  old  peasant  woman  shook  her  head,  and  La 
Rapet,  who  was  very  devout,  got  up  quickly :  "  Good 
heavens,  is  it  possible?  I  will  go  and  fetch  the 


318  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

cure;"  and  she  rushed  off  to  the  parsonage  s$ 
quickly  that  the  urchins  in  the  street  thought  som& 
accident  had  happened,  when  they  saw  her  running. 

The  priest  came  immediately  in  his  surplice,  pre- 
ceded by  a  choir-boy  who  rang  a  bell  to  announce 
the  passage  of  the  Host  through  the  parched  and 
quiet  country.  Some  men  who  were  working  at  a 
distance  took  off  their  large  hats  and  remained  mo- 
tionless until  the  white  vestment  had  disappeared 
behind  some  farm  buildings ;  the  women  who  were 
making  up  the  sheaves  stood  up  to  make  the  sign 
of  the  cross;  the  frightened  black  hens  ran  away 
along  the  ditch  until  they  reached  a  well-known 
hole,  through  which  they  suddenly  disappeared, 
while  a  colt  which  was  tied  in  a  meadow  took 
fright  at  the  sight  of  the  surplice  and  began  to  gal- 
lop around  and  around,  kicking  out  every  now  and 
then.  The  acolyte,  in  his  red  cassock,  walked 
quickly,  and  the  priest,  with  his  head  inclined 
toward  one  shoulder  and  his  square  biretta  on  his 
head,  followed  him,  muttering  some  prayers ;  while 
last  of  all  came  La  Rapet,  bent  almost  double  as  if 
she  wished  to  prostrate  herself,  walking  with  folded 
hands  as  they  do  in  church. 

Honore  saw  them  pass  in  the  distance,  and  he 
asked:  "Where  is  our  priest  going?"  His  man, 
who  was  more  intelligent,  replied:  "He  is  taking 
the  sacrament  to  your  mother,  of  course!" 

The  peasant  was  not  surprised,  and  said:  "That 
may  be,"  and  went  on  with  his  work. 


THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT  319 

Mother  Bontemps  confessed,  received  absolution 
and  communion,  and  the  priest  took  his  departure, 
leaving  the  two  women  alone  in  the  suffocating 
room,  while  La  Rapet  began  to  look  at  the  dying 
woman,  and  to  ask  herself  whether  she  could  last 
much  longer. 

The  day  was  on  the  wane,  and  gusts  of  cooler 
air  began  to  blow,  causing  a  picture  of  Epinal,  which 
was  fastened  to  the  wall  by  two  pins,  to  flap  up  and 
down;  the  scanty  window  curtains,  which  had  for- 
merly been  white,  but  were  now  yellow  and  covered 
with  fly-specks,  looked  as  if  they  were  going  to  fly 
off,  as  if  they  were  struggling  to  get  away,  like  the 
old  woman's  soul. 

Lying  motionless,  with  her  eyes  open,  she  seemed 
to  await  with  indifference  that  death  which  was  so 
near  and  which  yet  delayed  its  coming.  Her  short 
breath  whistled  in  her  constricted  throat.  It  would 
stop  altogether  soon,  and  there  would  be  one 
woman  less  in  the  world ;  no  one  would  regret  her. 

At  nightfall  Honore  returned,  and  when  he  went 
up  to  the  bed  and  saw  that  his  mother  was  still 
alive,  he  asked:  "How  is  she?"  just  as  he  had 
done  formerly  when  she  had  been  ailing,  and  then 
he  sent  La  Rapet  away,  saying  to  her:  "To-mor- 
row morning  at  five  o'clock,  without  fail."  And  she 
replied :  "To-morrow,  at  five  o'clock." 

She  came  at  daybreak,  and  found  Honore  eating 
his  soup,  which  he  had  made  himself  before  going 
to  work,  and  the  nurse  asked :  "Well,  is  your  mother 


320  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

dead?"  "She  is  rather  better,  on  the  contrary,"  he 
replied,  with  a  sly  look  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eyes.  And  he  went  out. 

La  Rapet,  seized  with  anxiety,  went  up  to  the 
dying  woman,  who  remained  in  the  same  state, 
lethargic  and  impassive,  with  her  eyes  open  and  her 
hands  clutching  the  counterpane.  The  nurse  per- 
ceived that  this  might  go  on  thus  for  two  days# 
four  days,  eight  days,  and  her  avaricious  mind  war 
seized  with  fear,  while  she  was  furious  at  the  slj 
fellow  who  had  tricked  her,  and  at  the  woman  who 
would  not  die. 

Nevertheless,  she  began  to  work,  and  waited, 
looking  intently  at  the  wrinkled  face  of  Mother 
Bontemps.  When  Honore  returned  to  breakfast  he 
seemed  quite  satisfied  and  even  in  a  bantering 
humor.  He  was  decidedly  getting  in  his  wheat 
under  very  favorable  circumstances. 

La  Rapet  was  becoming  exasperated ;  every  min- 
ute now  seemed  to  her  so  much  time  and  money 
stolen  from  her.  She  felt  a  mad  inclination  to  take 
this  old  woman,  this  headstrong  old  fool,  this  ob- 
stinate old  wretch,  and  to  stop  that  short,  rapid 
breath,  which  was  robbing  her  of  her  time  and 
money,  by  squeezing  her  throat  a  little.  But  then 
she  reflected  on  the  danger  of  doing  so,  and  other 
thoughts  came  into  her  head;  so  she  went  up  to 
the  bed  and  said :  "Have  you  ever  seen  the  Devil?" 
Mother  Bontemps  murmured:  "No." 

Then  the  nurse  began  to  talk  and  to  tell  her  tales 


THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT  321 

vhich  were  likely  to  terrify  the  weak  mind  of  the 
<tying  woman.  Some  minutes  before  one  dies  the 
Devil  appears,  she  said,  to  all  who  are  in  the  death 
throes.  He  has  a  broom  in  his  hand,  a  saucepan 
on  his  head,  and  he  utters  loud  cries.  When  any- 
body sees  him,  all  is  over,  and  that  person  has 
only  a  few  moments  longer  to  live.  She  then  enu- 
merated all  those  to  whom  the  Devil  had  appeared 
that  year:  Josephine  Loisel,  Eulalie  Ratier,  Sophie 
Padaknau,  Seraphine  Grospied. 

Mother  Bontemps,  who  had  at  last  become  dis- 
turbed in  mind,  moved  about,  wrung  her  hands,  and 
tried  to  turn  her  head  to  look  toward  the  end  of  the 
room.  Suddenly  La  Rapet  disappeared  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed.  She  took  a  sheet  out  of  the  cupboard 
and  wrapped  herself  up  in  it;  she  put  the  iron 
saucepan  on  her  head,  so  that  its  three  short  bent 
feet  rose  up  like  horns,  and  she  took  a  broom  in 
her  right  hand  and  a  tin  pail  in  her  left,  which  she 
threw  up  suddenly,  so  that  it  might  fall  to  the 
ground  noisily. 

When  it  fell,  it  certainly  made  a  terrible  crash. 
Then,  climbing  upon  a  chair,  the  nurse  lifted  the 
curtain  that  hung  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  showed 
herself,  gesticulating  and  uttering  shrill  cries  inside 
the  iron  saucepan  which  covered  her  face. 

Terrified,  with  an  insane  expression  on  her  face, 
the  dying  woman  made  a  superhuman  effort  to  rise 
and  escape;  she  even  got  her  shoulders  and  chest 
out  of  bed;  then  she  fell  back  with  a  deep  sigh. 


322  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

All  was  over,  and  La  Rapet  calmly  put  everything 
back  into  its  place;  the  broom  into  the  corner  by 
the  cupboard,  the  sheet  inside  it,  the  saucepan  on 
the  hearth,  the  pail  on  the  floor,  and  the  chair  against 
the  wall.  Then,  with  professional  movements,  she 
closed  the  dead  woman's  large  eyes,  put  a  plate  on 
the  bed  and  poured  some  holy  water  into  it,  placing 
in  it  the  twig  of  boxwood  that  had  been  nailed  to 
the  chest  of  drawers,  and  kneeling  down,  she  fer- 
vently repeated  the  prayers  for  the  dead,  which  she 
knew  by  heart,  as  a  matter  of  business. 

And  when  Honore  returned  in  the  evening  he 
found  her  praying,  and  he  calculated  immediately 
that  she  had  made  twenty  sous  out  of  him,  for  she 
had  spent  only  three  days  and  one  night  there, 
which  made  five  francs  altogether,  instead  of  the 
six  which  he  owed  her. 


WAS  IT  A  DREAM? 

Yr*.**,,  1  loved  her  wildly!  Why  do  we  love? 
Why  do  we  love?  How  strange  it  is  to  see 
only  one  being  in  the  world,  to  have  only  one 
thought  in  the  mind,  one  desire  in  the  heart,  and  one 
name  on  the  lips ;  a  name  that  conies  up  continually, 
rising  from  the  depths  of  the  soul  like  water  from 
a  spring,  and  which  one  repeats  over  and  over  again, 
and  murmurs  incessantly  everywhere,  like  a  prayer. 

"I  shall  not  tell  you  our  story.  Love  is  always 
the  same.  I  met  her  and  loved  her ;  that  is  all.  For 
a  whole  year  I  lived  in  her  tenderness,  her  caresses, 
in  her  arms,  hung  on  her  words  and  looks,  loved 
her  gowns,  was  so  completely  wrapped  up,  bound, 
imprisoned  in  everything  that  pertained  to  her  that 
I  no  longer  knew  whether  it  was  day  or  night, 
whether  I  were  dead  or  alive,  on  this  old  earth  of 
ours  or  elsewhere. 

"Then  she  died.  How?  I  do  not  know;  I  no 
longer  know.  But  one  evening  she  came  home  with 
her  clothes  wet,  for  it  was  raining  heavily.  The 
next  day  she  coughed,  and  she  coughed  for  about  a 

323 


324  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

week,  and  took  to  her  bed.  What  happened  I  do 
not  remember  now;  but  doctors  came,  wrote  pre- 
scriptions, and  went  away.  Medicines  were  brought, 
and  a  nurse  made  her  take  them.  Her  hands  were 
feverish,  her  forehead  burned,  and  her  eyes  were 
bright  and  sad.  When  I  spoke  to  her  she  answered, 
but  I  do  not  remember  what  we  said.  I  have  for- 
gotten everything,  everything,  everything !  She  died, 
and  I  remember  well  her  little  faint  sigh — her  last. 
The  nurse  said:  'Ah!'  and  I  understood,  I  under- 
stood ! 

"I  knew  nothing  more,  nothing.  I  saw  a  priest, 
who  said :  'Your  mistress  ?'  and  it  seemed  to  me  as 
if  he  were  insulting  her.  As  she  was  dead,  nobody 
had  the  right  to  know  our  relationship,  and  I  turned 
him  out.  Another  came  who  was  very  kind  and 
tender,  and  I  wept  when  he  spoke  to  me  about  her. 

"They  consulted  me  about  the  funeral,  but  I  do 
not  remember  anything  they  said,  though  I  dis- 
tinctly recall  the  coffin  and  the  strokes  of  the  ham- 
mer as  they  nailed  her  in  it.  Oh,  my  God,  my  God ! 

"She  was  buried!  Buried!  She!  In  that  hole! 
Some  persons  came — women  friends.  I  made  my 
escape,  and  fan  away;  I  ran,  and  then  I  walked, 
through  the  streets,  and  finally  went  home.  The 
next  day  I  set  out  on  a  journey. 

"Yesterday  I  returned  to  Paris,  and  when  I  saw 
my  room  again — our  room,  our  bed,  our  furniture, 
everything  that  remains  of  the  life  of  a  human  be- 
ing after  death — I  was  seized  by  such  a  violent  re- 


WAS  IT  A  DREAM?  325 

currence  of  grief  that  I  came  very  near  opening  the 
window  and  throwing  myself  into  the  street.  As 
I  could  no  longer  stay  among  these  things,  between 
these  walls  which  had  enclosed  and  sheltered  her, 
and  which  retained  a  thousand  atoms  of  her,  of  her 
skin  and  her  breath,  in  their  imperceptible  crevices, 
I  took  up  my  hat  to  make  my  escape,  and  just  as  I 
reached  the  door  I  passed  the  large  mirror  in  the  hall, 
which  she  had  put  there  so  that  she  could  look  at 
herself  every  day  from  head  to  foot  as  she  went  out, 
to  see  whether  her  toilet  was  in  order,  and  was 
correct  and  pretty,  from  her  little  shoes  to  her 
hat. 

"I  stopped  short  in  front  of  that  looking-glass 
in  which  she  had  so  often  been  reflected — so  often — 
that  it  too  must  have  retained  her  reflection.  I 
was  standing  there,  trembling,  with  my  eyes  fixed  on 
the  glass— on  that  flat,  deep,  empty  glass — which 
had  contained  her  entirely,  and  had  possessed  her 
as  much  as  I  had,  as  my  passionate  looks  had.  I 
felt  as  if  I  loved  that  glass.  I  touched  it;  it  was 
cold.  Oh,  the  recollection !  Sorrowful  mirror,  burn- 
ing mirror,  live  mirror,  horrible  mirror,  which 
makes  us  suffer  such  torments !  Happy  is  the  man 
whose  heart  is  like  a  mirror  where  images  glide 
and  pass  away;  that  forgets  all  it  has  contained, 
reflected,  all  that  have  basked  in  its  love  and  af- 
fection !  But  I — how  I  suffer ! 

"I  went  out  and,  without  knowing  it,  without 
wishing  it,  walked  to  the  cemetery.  I  found  her 


326  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

simple  grave,  with  its  white  marble  cross,  bearing 
these  few  words : 

"  'She  loved,  was  beloved,  and  died.' 

"She  lay  there,  beneath  the  ground,  decom- 
posed !  How  horrible !  I  sobbed,  with  my  forehead 
resting  on  the  ground.  I  remained  there  a  long, 
long  time.  Then  I  saw  that  it  was  growing  dark, 
and  a  strange,  mad  wish,  the  desire  of  a  despairing 
lover,  seized  me.  I  wished  to  pass  the  night,  the 
last  night,  in  weeping  on  her  grave.  But  I  should 
be  seen  and  driven  out.  How  was  I  to  manage? 
I  was  cunning,  so  I  rose  and  began  to  roam  about 
that  city  of  the  dead.  I  walked  and  walked.  How 
small  this  city  is,  in  comparison  with  the  other 
— the  city  in  which  we  live!  And  yet,  how  much 
more  numerous  are  the  dead  than  the  living!  We 
require  high  houses,  wide  streets,  and  much  room 
for  the  four  generations  who  see  daylight  at  the 
same  time,  drink  water  from  the  spring,  wine 
from  the  vines,  and  eat  the  bread  from  the  fields. 

"And  for  all  the  generations  of  the  dead,  for  all 
that  ladder  of  humanity  that  has  descended  to  us, 
there  is  hardly  anything — only  a  field!  The  earth 
takes  them  back,  oblivion  effaces  them.  Farewell! 

"At  the  end  of  this  cemetery  I  suddenly,  per- 
ceived the  old  abandoned  portion  where  the  dead 
have  long  since  blended  with  the  soil,  where  the 
crosses  themselves  decay,  where  the  latest  comers 
will  be  put  to-morrow.  It  is  full  of  untended  roses, 


WAS  IT  A  DREAM?  327 

of  robust,  dark  cypress  trees,  a  sad  and  beautiful 
garden,  nourished  on  human  flesh. 

"I  was  alone,  absolutely  alone.  I  hid  in  a  leafy 
tree,  and  concealed  myself  completely  among  the 
thick  and  somber  branches,  and  waited,  clinging 
to  the  trunk,  as  a  shipwrecked  man  clings  to  a 
plank. 

"When  it  was  quite  dark  I  left  my  refuge  and 
began  to  walk  softly,  slowly,  noiselessly  through 
that  ground  full  of  the  dead,  and  I  wandered  about 
a  long  time,  but  could  not  find  her  again.  I  went  on 
with  extended  arms,  striking  against  the  tombs  with 
my  hands,  my  feet,  my  knees,  my  chest,  even  with 
my  head,  without  being  able  to  find  her.  I  touched 
and  felt  about  like  a  blind  man  groping  his  way.  I 
felt  the  stones,  the  crosses,  the  iron  railings,  the 
metal  wreaths,  and  the  wreaths  of  faded  flowers! 
I  read  the  names  with  my  fingers,  by  passing  them 
over  the  letters.  What  a  night!  What  a  night! 
I  could  not  find  her  again ! 

"There  was  no  moon.  What  a  night!  I  was 
afraid,  horribly  afraid  in  these  narrow  paths,  be- 
tween two  rows  of  graves.  Graves !  graves !  graves ! 
nothing  but  graves!  On  my  right,  on  my  left,  in 
front  of  me,  around  me,  everywhere  there  were 
graves!  I  sat  down  on  one  of  them,  for  I  could 
not  walk  any  longer,  my  knees  were  so  weak.  I 
could  hear  my  heart  throb !  And  I  could  hear  some- 
thing else  as  well.  What?  A  confused,  nameless 
noise.  Was  the  noise  in  my  head,  in  the  impene- 


328  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

trable  night,  or  beneath  the  mysterious  earth,  the 
earth  sown  with  human  corpses?  I  looked  about 
me,  but  I  cannot  say  how  long  I  remained  there;  I 
was  paralyzed  with  terror,  drunk  with  fright,  ready 
to  cry  out,  ready  to  die. 

"Suddenly  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  slab  of  mar- 
ble on  which  I  was  sitting  was  moving.  Certainly, 
it  was  moving,  as  if  it  were  being  raised.  With  a 
bound  I  sprang  upon  the  neighboring  tomb,  and  I 
saw,  yes,  I  distinctly  saw  the  stone  I  had  just  left 
standing  upright,  and  the  dead  person  appeared,  a 
naked  skeleton,  pushing  the  stone  with  its  bent 
back.  I  saw  it  quite  clearly,  although  the  night 
was  so  dark.  On  the  cross  I  could  read: 

"  'Here  lies  Jacques  Olivant,  who  died  at  the  age 
of  fifty-one.  He  loved  his  family,  was  kind  and 
honorable,  and  died  in  the  peace  of  God' 

"The  dead  man  also  read  what  was  inscribed  on 
his  tombstone;  then  he  picked  up  a  stone  from  the 
path,  a  little,  pointed  stone,  and  began  to  scrape  the 
letters  carefully.  He  slowly  effaced  them  alto- 
gether, and  with  the  hollows  of  his  eyes  he  looked 
at  the  places  where  they  had  been  engraved,  and, 
with  the  tip  of  the  bone  that  had  been  his  forefinger 
he  wrote  in  luminous  letters,  like  those  lines  which 
one  traces  on  walls  with  the  tip  of  a  lucif  er  match : 

"  'Here  reposes  Jacques  Olivant,  who  died  at  the 
age  of  fifty-one.  He  hastened  his  father's  death  by 


WAS  IT  A  DREAM?  329 

hi*  unkindness,  as  he  wished  to  inherit  his  fortune; 
he  tortured  his  wife,  tormented  his  children,  de- 
ceived his  neighbors,  robbed  every  one  he  could, 
and  died  wretchedly  unhappy.' 

"When  he  had  finished  writing,  the  dead  man 
stood  motionless,  looking  at  his  work,  and  on  turn- 
ing round  I  saw  that  all  the  graves  were  open,  that 
all  the  dead  bodies  had  emerged  from  them,  and 
that  all  had  effaced  the  lies  inscribed  on  their  grave- 
stones by  their  relatives,  and  had  substituted  the 
truth  instead.  And  I  saw  that  all  had  been  the  tor- 
mentors of  their  neighbors — malicious,  dishonest, 
hypocrites,  liars,  rascals,  calumniators,  envious ; 
that  they  had  stolen,  deceived,  performed  every  dis- 
graceful, every  abominable  action,  these  good 
fathers,  these  faithful  wives,  these  devoted  sons, 
these  chaste  maidens,  these  honest  tradesmen,  these 
men  and  women  who  were  called  irreproachable. 
They  were  all  writing  at  the  same  time,  on  the 
threshold  of  their  eternal  abode,  the  truth,  the  cruel, 
terrible,  and  holy  truth  of  which  everyone  on  earth 
is  ignorant,  or  pretends  to  ignore. 

"  I  thought  that  she  also  must  have  written  some- 
thing on  her  tombstone,  and  now,  running  without 
any  fear  among  the  half -open  coffins,  among  the 
corpses  and  skeletons,  I  went  toward  her,  sure  that 
I  should  find  her  immediately.  I  recognized  her  at 
once,  without  seeing  her  face,  which  was  covered 
by  the  winding-sheet,  and  on  the  marble  cross, 

Vol.  1—22 


330  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

where  shortly  before  I  had  read :  'She  loved,  was 
beloved,  and  died,'  I  now  read:  'Having  gone  out 
one  day,  in  order  to  deceive  her  lover,  she  caught 
cold  in  the  rain  and  died.' 

"I  heard  that  they  found  me  at  daybreak  lying 
unconscious  on  her  grave." 


SIMON'S  PAPA 

THE  hour  of  noon  had  just  struck.  The  school 
door  of  the  schoolhouse  opened  and  the 
children  darted  out,  jostling  each  other  in  their 
haste.  But  instead  of  dispersing  promptly  and  go- 
ing home  to  dinner  as  usual,  they  stopped  a  few 
paces  away,  broke  up  into  groups,  and  began  whis- 
pering. 

The  fact  was  that  that  morning  Simon,  the  son 
of  La  Blanchotte,  had  attended  school  for  the  first 
time. 

All  the  children  had  heard  talk  in  their  families 
of  La  Blanchotte;  and,  although  in  public  she  was 
welcome  enough,  the  mothers  among  themselves 
treated  her  with  a  somewhat  disdainful  compassion, 
which  the  children  had  imitated  without  in  the  least 
knowing  the  reason  why. 

As  for  Simon  himself,  they  did  not  know  him,  for 
he  never  went  out,  and  did  not  play  with  them 
in  the  village  streets  or  along  the  banks  of  the  river. 
And  they  did  not  care  for  him;  so  it  was  with  a 
certain  delight,  mingled  with  considerable  astonish- 

331 


332  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ment,  that  they  met  and  repeated  to  one  another 
what  had  been  said  by  a  lad  of  fourteen  or  fifteen, 
who  appeared  to  know  all  about  it,  so  wisely  did 
he  wink.  "You  know  .  .  .  Simon  .  .  .  well, 
he  has  no  papa." 

La  Blanchotte's  son  suddenly  appeared  in  the 
doorway  of  the  schoolhouse. 

He  was  seven  or  eight  years  old,  rather  pale,  very 
neat,  with  a  timid  and  almost  awkward  manner. 

He  was  about  to  go  to  his  mother's  house  when 
the  groups  of  his  schoolmates,  whispering  and 
watching  him  with  the  mischievous  and  heartless 
eyes  of  children  bent  upon  playing  a  mean  trick, 
gradually  closed  in  around  him  and  ended  by  sur- 
rounding him  altogether.  There  he  stood  among 
them,  surprised  and  embarrassed,  not  understanding 
what  they  intended  to  do  with  him.  But  the  lad 
who  had  brought  the  news,  puffed  up  with  the  suc- 
cess he  had  met  with  already,  demanded : 

"What  is  your  name,  you  boy?" 

"Simon,"  he  answered. 

"Simon  what?"  asked  the  other. 

The  child,  altogether  bewildered,  repeated: 
"Simon." 

The  lad  shouted  at  him:  "One  is  named  Simon 
something  .  .  .  that  is  not  a  name  .  .  .Simon, 
indeed !" 

The  boy,  on  the  brink  of  tears,  replied  for  the 
third  time: 
<_"My  name  is  Simon." 


SIMON'S  PAPA  333 

The  other  boys  began  to  laugh.  The  triumphant 
tormentor  cried:  "You  can  see  plainly  that  he  has 
no  papa." 

A  deep  silence  followed.  The  children  were  dumb- 
founded by  this  extraordinary,  impossible,  mon- 
strous thing — a  boy  who  had  not  a  father;  they 
looked  upon  him  as  a  phenomenon,  an  unnatural 
being,  and  they  felt  that  hitherto  inexplicable  con- 
tempt of  their  mothers  for  La  Blanchotte  growing 
within  them.  As  for  Simon,  he  had  leaned  against 
a  tree  to  avoid  falling,  and  he  remained  as  if  pros- 
trated by  an  irreparable  disaster.  He  sought  to  ex- 
plain, but  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  to  refute 
this  terrible  charge  that  he  had  no  father.  At  last 
he  shouted  at  them  quite  recklessly:  "Yes,  I  have 
one." 

"Where  is  he?"  the  boy  demanded. 

Simon  was  silent ;  he  did  not  know.  The  children 
roared,  tremendously  excited;  and  those  country 
boys,  little  more  than  animals,  experienced  that 
cruel  craving  with  prompts  the  fowls  of  a  farm- 
yard to  destroy  one  among  themselves  as  soon  as  it 
is  wounded.  Simon  suddenly  espied  a  little  neigh- 
bor, the  son  of  a  widow,  whom  he  had  seen,  as  he 
himself  was  to  be  seen,  always  alone  with  his 
mother. 

"And  neither  have  you,"  he  said.  "Neither  have 
you  a  papa." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other,  "I  have  one." 

"Where  is  he?"  Simon  asked. 


334  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"He  is  dead,"  declared  the  lad  with  superb  dig- 
nity. "He  is  in  the  cemetery,  is  my  papa." 

A  murmur  pf  approval  rose  among  the  little 
wretches,  as  if  this  fact  of  possessing  a  papa  dead 
in  a  cemetery  had  caused  their  comrade  to  grow  big 
enough  to  crush  the  other  one  who  had  no  papa  at 
all.  And  these  boys,  whose  fathers  were  for  the 
most  part  bad  men,  drunkards,  thieves,  and  who 
beat  their  wives,  jostled  one  another  to  press  closer 
and  closer,  as  if  they,  the  legitimate  ones,  would 
smother  by  their  pressure  one  who  was  illegiti- 
mate. 

The  boy  who  chanced  to  be  next  Simon  suddenly 
thrust  his  tongue  out  at  him  with  a  mocking  air  and 
shouted  at  him: 

"No  papa!  No  papa!" 

Simon  seized  him  by  the  hair  with  both  hands 
and  tried  to  disable  his  legs  with  kicks,  while  he 
bit  his  cheek  ferociously.  A  tremendous  struggle 
ensued  between  the  two  combatants,  and  Simon 
found  himself  beaten,  torn,  bruised  and  rolled  on 
the  ground  in  the  midst  of  the  ring  of  applauding 
schoolboys.  As  he  arose,  mechanically  brushing 
with  his  hand  his  little  blouse  all  covered  with  dust, 
some  one  shouted: 

"Go  and  tell  your  papa." 

Simon  felt  a  great  sinking  at  his  heart.  They 
were  stronger  than  he  was,  they  had  beaten  him, 
and  he  had  no  answer  to  give  them,  for  he  knew 
well  that  it  was  true  that  he  had  no  father.  Full  of 


SIMON'S  PAPA  335 

pride,  he  attempted  for  some  moments  to  struggle 
against  the  tears  that  were  choking  him.  He  had 
a  feeling  of  suffocation,  and  then  without  any  sound 
he  began  to  weep,  with  heavy,  shaking  sobs.  A 
ferocious  joy  broke  out  among  his  enemies,  and, 
with  one  accord,  like  savages  in  their  fearful  fes- 
tivals, they  took  one  another  by  the  hand  and 
danced  around  him  in  a  circle,  repeating: 

"No  papa!  no  papa!" 

Suddenly  Simon  ceased  sobbing.  He  became  furi- 
ous. There  were  stones  under  his  feet;  he  picked 
them  up  and  with  all  his  strength  hurled  them  at 
his  tormentors.  Two  or  three  were  struck  and 
rushed  off  yelling,  and  so  formidable  did  he  appear 
that  the  rest  became  panic-stricken.  Cowards,  as 
the  mob  always  is  in  presence  of  an  exasperated 
man,  they  broke  up  and  fled.  Left  alone,  the  little 
fellow  without  a  father  set  off  running  toward  the 
fields,  for  a  recollection  had  been  awakened  in  him 
which  determined  his  soul  to  a  great  resolve.  He 
made  up  his  mind  to  drown  himself  in  the  river. 

He  remembered,  in  fact,  that  a  week  before  a 
poor  beggar  had  thrown  himself  into  the  water  be- 
cause he  had  no  more  money.  Simon  had  been 
there  when  they  fished  him  out  again;  and  the 
wretched  man,  who  usually  seemed  to  him  so  mis- 
erable and  ugly,  had  then  struck  him  as  being  envi- 
ably peaceful  with  his  pale  cheeks,  his  long  drenched 
beard,  and  his  open  eyes  full  of  calm.  The  by- 
standers had  said: 


336  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"He  is  dead." 

Some  one  added:  "He  is  quite  happy  now." 

And  Simon  wished  to  drown  himself,  too,  be- 
cause he  had  no  father,  like  the  wretched  being  who 
had  no  money. 

He  reached  the  water  and  watched  it  flowing. 
Some  fish  were  sporting  briskly  in  the  clear  stream 
and  occasionally  made  a  little  bound  and  caught 
the  flies  flying  on  the  surface.  He  stopped  crying 
in  order  to  watch  them,  for  their  maneuvers  inter- 
ested him  greatly.  But,  at  intervals,  as  in  a  tempest 
moments  of  calm  alternate  suddenly  with  tremen- 
dous gusts  of  wind,  which  snap  off  branches  and 
then  lose  themselves  in  the  horizon,  this  thought 
would  return  to  him  with  intense  pain : 

"I  want  to  drown  myself  because  I  have  no 
papa." 

The  weather  was  very  warm  and  fine.  The  pleas- 
ant sunshine  warmed  the  grass,  and  the  water 
shone  like  a  mirror.  Simon  enjoyed  some  minutes 
of  happiness,  of  that  languor  which  follows  weep- 
ing, and  felt  inclined  to  fall  asleep  there  on  the 
grass  in  the  bright  sunshine. 

A  little  green  frog  leaped  from  under  his  feet. 
He  tried  to  catch  it.  It  escaped  him.  He  followed 
it  and  lost  it  three  times  in  succession.  At  last  he 
caught  it  by  one  of  its  hind  legs  and  began  to  laugh 
as  he  saw  the  efforts  the  creature  made  to  escape. 
It  gathered  itself  up  on  its  hind  legs  and  then  with 
a  violent  spring  suddenly  stretched  them  out  as  stiff 


SIMON'S  PAPA  337 

as  two  bars;  while  it  beat  the  air  with  its  front 
legs  as  if  they  were  hands,  its  round  eyes  staring 
in  their  circle  of  yellow.  It  reminded  him  of  a 
toy  made  of  straight  slips  of  wood  nailed  zigzag 
one  on  the  other,  which  by  a  similar  movement 
regulated  the  movements  of  the  little  soldiers  fast- 
ened thereon.  Then  he  thought  of  his  home,  of 
his  mother,  and,  overcome  by  sorrow  he  again  be- 
gan to  weep.  A  shiver  passed  over  him.  He  knelt 
down  and  said  his  prayers  as  before  going  to  bed. 
But  he  was  unable  to  finish  them,  for  tumultuous, 
violent  sobs  shook  his  whole  frame.  He  no  longer 
thought,  no  longer  saw  anything  around  him,  and 
was  wholly  absorbed  in  grief. 

Suddenly  a  heavy  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoul- 
der, and  a  rough  voice  asked : 

"What  is  it  that  causes  you  so  much  grief,  my 
little  man?" 

Simon  turned.  A  tall  workman  with  a  beard 
and  black  curly  hair  was  staring  at  him  good-na- 
turedly. He  answered  with  his  eyes  and  throat 
full  of  tears: 

"They  beat  me  .  .  .  because  ...  I  ... 
have  no  ...  papa  ...  no  papa." 

"What!"  said  the  man,  smiling,  "why,  every- 
body has  one." 

The  child  answered  amid  his  spasms  of  weeping: 

"But  I  .   .   .  I  .   .   .  have  none." 

The  workman  became  serious.  He  had  recog- 
nized La  Blanchotte's  son,  and,  although  himself 


338  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

a  new  arrivaKn  the  neighborhood,  he  had  a  vague 
idea  of  her  history. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "console  yourself,  my  boy,  and 
come  with  me  home  to  your  mother.  They  will 
give  you  ...  a  papa." 

And  so  they  started  on  the  way,  the  big  fellow 
holding  the  little  fellow  by  the  hand,  and  the  man 
smiled,  for  he  was  rather  curious  to  see  this  Blan- 
chotte,  who  was,  it  was  said,  one  of  the  prettiest 
girls  of  the  countryside,  and  perhaps  he  was  say- 
ing to  himself,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  a  lass  who 
had  erred  once  might  very  well  err  again. 

They  arrived  in  front  of  a  neat  little  white  house. 

"There  it  is,"  exclaimed  the  child,  and  he  cried, 
"Mamma!" 

A  woman  appeared,  and  the  workman  instantly 
left  off  smiling,  for  he  saw  at  once  that  no  non- 
sense could  be  expected  with  the  tall  pale  girl  who 
stood  austerely  at  her  door  as  if  to  defend  from 
one  man  the  threshold  of  that  house  where  she 
had  already  been  betrayed  by  another.  Intimidated, 
his  cap  in  his  hand,  he  stammered  out: 

"See,  Madame,  I  have  brought  you  back  your 
little  boy  who  had  lost  himself  near  the  river." 

But  Simon  flung  his  arms  about  his  mother's 
neck  and  told  her,  as  he  again  began  to  cry : 

"No,  mamma,  I  wished  to  drown  myself,  because 
the  others  had  beaten  me  .  .  .  had  beaten  me 
.  .  .  because  I  have  no  papa." 

A  burning  blush   covered  the  young   woman's 


SIMON'S  PAPA  339 

cheeks;  and,  hurt  to  the  quick,  she  embraced  her 
child  passionately,  while  the  tears  ran  down  her 
face.  The  man,  much  moved,  stood  there,  not 
knowing  how  to  get  away.  But  Simon  suddenly 
ran  to  him  and  said: 

"Will  you  be  my  papa?" 

A  deep  silence  ensued.  La  Blanchotte,  dumb, 
and  tortured  with  shame,  leaned  against  the  wall, 
both  her  hands  pressed  to  her  heart.  The  child, 
seeing  that  no  answer  was  made  added  firmly: 

"If  you  will  not,  I  shall  go  back  and  drown  my- 
self." 

The  workman  took  the  matter  as  a  jest  and  an- 
swered, laughing: 

"Oh,  yes,  certainly  I  will." 

"What  is  your  name,"  the  child  continued,  "so 
that  I  may  tell  the  others  when  they  wish  to  know 
your  name?" 

"Philip,"  answered  the  man. 

Simon  was  silent  a  moment  so  that  he  might  get 
the  name  well  into  his  head ;  then  he  stretched  out 
his  arms,  quite  consoled,  as  he  said : 

"Well,  then,  Philip,  you  are  my  papa." 

The  workman,  lifting  him  from  the  ground, 
kissed  him  hastily  on  both  cheeks,  and  then  walked 
away  quickly  with  great  strides. 

When  the  child  returned  to  school  next  day  he 
was  received  with  a  spiteful  laugh,  and  at  the  end 
of  school,  when  the  lads  were  on  the  point  of  re- 
suming their  taunts,  Simon  threw  these  words  at 


340  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

their  heads  as  he  would  have  thrown  a  stone:  "He 
is  named  Philip,  my  papa." 

Cries  of  delight  burst  out  from  all  sides. 

"Philip  who?  .  .  .  Philip  what?  Who  is  this 
Philip?  Where  did  you  find  your  Philip?" 

Simon  did  not  answer;  and,  immovable  in  his 
faith,  he  defied  them  with  his  eye,  ready  to  be  mar- 
tyred rather  than  run  before  them.  The  schoolmas- 
ter came  to  his  rescue  and  he  returned  home  to  his 
mother. 

During  three  months,  the  tall  workman,  Philip, 
frequently  passed  La  Blanchotte's  house,  and  some- 
times he  ventured  to  speak  to  her  when  he  saw  her 
sewing  near  the  window.  She  answered  him  civilly, 
always  sedately,  never  joking  with  him,  nor  permit- 
ting him  to  enter  her  house.  Notwithstanding, 
being,  like  all  men,  rather  conceited,  he  imagined 
that  her  cheeks  were  often  rosier  than  usual  when 
she  chatted  with  him. 

But  a  lost  reputation  is  so  difficult  to  regain  and 
always  remains  so  fragile  that,  in  spite  of  the  cold 
reserve  of  La  Blanchotte,  the  women  already  gos- 
siped in  the  neighborhood. 

As  for  Simon,  he  loved  his  new  papa  very  much, 
and  walked  with  him  nearly  every  evening  when 
the  day's  work  was  done.  He  went  regularly  to 
school,  and  mingled  with  great  dignity  with  his 
schoolfellows  without  ever  answering  them  back. 

One  day,  however,  the  lad  who  had  first  attacked 
him  said  to  him : 


SIMON'S  PAPA  341 

"You  have  told  a  lie.  You  have  not  a  papa 
named  Philip." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  demanded  Simon,  much 
disturbed. 

The  youth  rubbed  his  hands. 

"Because  if  you  had  one  he  would  be  your 
mamma's  husband,"  he  replied. 

Simon  was  confused  by  the  truth  of  this  reason- 
ing; nevertheless,  he  retorted: 

"He  is  my  papa,  all  the  same." 

"That  may  be,"  exclaimed  the  urchin  with  a 
sneer,  "but  that  is  not  being  your  papa  altogether." 

La  Blanchotte's  boy  bowed  his  head  and  went 
off  dreaming  in  the  direction  of  the  forge  belong- 
ing to  old  Loizon,  where  Philip  worked. 

This  forge  seemed  fairly  buried  beneath  trees. 
It  was  very  dark  there ;  the  red  glare  of  a  formid- 
able furnace  alone  illumined  with  great  flashes  five 
blacksmiths,  who  hammered  upon  their  anvils  with 
a  terrible  clamor.  They  were  standing  enveloped  in 
flame,  like  demons,  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  red-hot 
iron  they  were  pounding;  and  their  dull  thoughts 
rose  and  fell  with  their  hammers. 

Simon 'entered  without  being  noticed,  and  went 
quietly  to  pluck  his  friend  by  the  sleeve.  Philip 
turned  round.  All  at  once  the  work  came  to  a 
standstill,  and  all  the  men  looked  on,  very  atten- 
tive. Then,  in  the  midst  of  this  unaccustomed 
silence,  rose  the  little  slender  pipe  of  Simon: 

"Philip,    explain    to    me    what    the    lad    at    La 


342  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Michande  has  just  said  to  me,  that  you  are  not 
altogether  my  papa." 

"And  why  that?"  asked  the  smith. 

The  child  replied  in  all  innocence: 

"Because  you  are  not  my  mamma's  husband." 

No  one  laughed.  Philip  remained  standing,  lean- 
ing his  forehead  upon  the  back  of  his  great  hands, 
xvhich  supported  the  handle  of  his  hammer  standing 
upright  upon  the  anvil.  He  mused.  His  four  com- 
panions watched  him,  and  Simon,  a  tiny  mite  among 
these  giants,  anxiously  waited.  Suddenly,  one  of 
the  smiths,  answering  to  the  sentiment  of  all,  said 
to  Philip: 

"La  Blanchotte  is  a  good,  honest  girl,  upright 
and  steady  in  spite  of  her  misfortune,  and  would 
make  a  good  wife  for  an  honest  man." 

"That  is  true,"  remarked  the  three  others. 

The  smith  continued : 

"Is  it  the  girl's  fault  if  she  went  wrong?  She 
had  been  promised  marriage;  and  I  know  more 
than  one  who  is  much  respected  to-day,  and  who 
sinned  quite  as  much  as  she." 

"That  is  true,"  repeated  the  three  men. 

He  resumed: 

"How  hard  she  has  toiled,  poor  thing,  to  bring 
up  her  child  all  alone,  and  how  she  has  wept  all 
these  years  that  she  never  has  gone  out  except  to 
church,  God  only  knows." 

"That  is  true  also,"  said  the  others. 

Nothing  was  heard  but  the  bellows  fanning  the 


SIMON'S  PAPA  343 

furnace  fire.     Philip  hastily  bent  down  to  Simon: 

"Go  and  tell  your  mother  that  I  am  coming  to 
speak  to  her  this  evening." 

Then  he  pushed  the  boy  out  by  the  shoulders. 
He  returned  to  his  work,  and  as  with  a  single  blow 
the  five  hammers  again  fell  upon  their  anvils.  Thus 
they  wrought  the  iron  until  nightfall,  strong,  pow- 
erful, happy,  like  contented  hammers.  But  just  as 
the  great  bell  of  the  cathedral  resounds  upon  feast 
days  above  the  jingling  of  the  other  bells,  so  Philip's 
hammer,  sounding  above  the  rest,  clanged  second 
after  second  with  a  deafening  uproar.  And  he 
stood  amid  the  flying  sparks  plying  his  trade  vig- 
orously. 

The  sky  was  sown  with  stars  as  he  knocked  at  La 
Blanchotte's  door.  He  had  on  his  Sunday  blouse, 
a  clean  shirt,  and  his  beard  was  trimmed.  The 
young  woman  showed  herself  upon  the  threshold, 
and  said  in  a  grieved  tone: 

"It  is  not  well  to  come  thus  after  night  has  fallen, 
Monsieur  Philip." 

He  wished  to  answer,  but  stammered  and  stood 
confused  before  her. 

She  resumed: 

"You  understand,  do  you  not,  that  it  will  not  do 
for  me  to  be  talked  about  again." 

Then  Philip  said  suddenly:  "What  does  that 
matter  to  me,  if  you  will  be  my  wife!" 

No  voice  replied,  but  he  believed  that  he  heard  in 
the  shadow  of  the  room  the  sound  of  a  falling  body. 


344  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

He  entered  quickly;  and  Simon,  who  had  gone  to 
his  bed,  distinguished  the  sound  of  a  kiss  and  some 
words  that  his  mother  murmured  softly.  Then, 
suddenly,  he  found  himself  lifted  by  the  hands  of 
his  friend,  who,  holding  him  at  the  length  of  his 
herculean  arms,  exclaimed : 

"You  will  tell  them,  your  schoolmates,  that  your 
papa  is  Philip  Remy,  the  blacksmith,  and  that  he 
will  pull  the  ears  of  all  who  do  you  any  harm." 

The  next  day,  when  the  school  was  full  and  les- 
sons were  about  to  begin,  little  Simon  stood  up, 
quite  pale,  with  trembling  lips: 

"My  papa,"  said  he  in  a  clear  voice,  "is  Philip 
Remy,  the  blacksmith,  and  he  has  promised  to  pull 
the  ears  of  all  who  do  me  any  harm." 

This  time  no  one  laughed,  for  Philip  Remy,  the 
blacksmith,  was  very  well  known,  and  was  a  papa 
of  whom  anyone  in  the  wrorld  might  have  been 
proud. 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE 

THE  girl  was  one  of  those  pretty  and  attractive 
young  creatures  who  sometimes  are  born, 
as  if  by  an  error  of  destiny,  in  a  family  of 
clerks.  She  had  no  dot,  no  expectations,  no  way 
of  being  known,  understood,  loved  and  married, 
by  a  rich  and  distinguished  man;  so  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  married  to  a  humble  clerk  in  the  Min- 
istry of  Public  Instruction. 

She  dressed  plainly  because  she  could  not  dress 
handsomely,  but  she  was  as  unhappy  as  if  she  had 
really  sunk  from  a  higher  station ;  since  with  women 
there  is  neither  caste  nor  rank,  for  beauty,  grace, 
and  charm  take  the  place  of  family  and  high  birth. 
Natural  delicacy,  an  instinct  for  what  is  elegant, 
suppleness  of  wit,  are  the  only  hierarchy,  and  they 
often  make  from  women  of  the  people  the  equals 
of  the  greatest  ladies. 

Mathilde  suffered  continually,  feeling  that  she 
was  born  to  enjoy  all  delicacies  and  all  luxuries. 
She  suffered  from  the  poverty  of  her  home,  from 
the  barrenness  of  the  walls,  the  shabby  chairs,  the 

Vol.  1—23  345 


346  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ugliness  of  the  curtains.  All  those  things,  of  which 
another  woman  of  her  rank  never  would  even  have 
been  conscious,  tortured  her  and  made  her  angry. 
The  sight  of  the  little  Breton  peasant-girl  who 
did  her  humble  household  tasks  aroused  in  her 
despairing  regrets  and  distracted  dreams.  She 
thought  of  silent  antechambers  hung  with  Oriental 
tapestry,  illumined  by  tall  bronze  candelabra,  and 
of  two  great  footmen  in  knee-breeches  who  sleep 
in  big  armchairs,  made  drowsy  by  the  heavy  warmth 
of  the  stove.  She  thought  of  long  salons  hung 
with  ancient  silk,  of  delicate  furniture  bearing 
priceless  curiosities,  and  of  the  coquettish  perfumed 
boudoirs  made  for  little  chats  at  five  o'clock  with 
intimate  friends,  with  men  famous  and  sought  after, 
whom  all  women  envy  and  whose  attentions  they 
all  desire. 

When  she  sat  down  to  dinner,  before  the  round 
table  covered  with  a  tablecloth  three  days  used,  op- 
posite her  husband,  who  uncovered  the  soup-tureen, 
and  declared  with  a  delighted  air,  "Ah,  the  good 
soup !  I  don't  know  anything  better  than  that,"  she 
thought  of  dainty  dinners,  of  shining  silverware, 
of  tapestry  that  peopled  the  walls  with  ancient  per- 
sonages and  with  strange  birds  flying  in  the  midst 
of  a  fairy  forest;  and  she  thought  of  delicious 
dishes  served  on  marvelous  plates,  and  of  the  whis- 
pered gallantries  to  wnich  you  listen  with  a  sphinx- 
like  smile,  while  you  are  eating  the  pink  flesh  of  a 
trout  or  the  wings  of  a  quail. 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE          347 

She  had  no  gowns,  no  jewels,  nothing.  And  she 
loved  nothing  but  that ;  she  felt  she  was  made  for 
that.  She  would  have  liked  so  much  to  please,  to 
be  envied,  to  be  charming,  to  be  sought  after. 

She  had  a  friend,  a  former  schoolmate  at  the 
convent,  who  was  rich,  and  whom  she  did  not  like 
to  go  to  see  any  more,  because  she  suffered  so 
much  when  she  came  home. 

But,  one  evening  her  husband  arrived  home  with 
a  triumphant  air,  holding  out  a  large  envelope. 

"There,"  said  he,  "is  something  for  you." 

She  opened  the  paper  quickly,  and  drew  out  a 
printed  card,  which  bore  these  words : 

"The  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  and  Madame 
Georges  Ramponneau  request  the  honor  of  M.  and  Madame 
Loisel's  company  at  the  palace  of  the  Ministry  on  Mon- 
day evening,  January  18th." 

Instead  of  being  delighted,  as  her  husband  had 
hoped,  she  threw  the  invitation  on  the  table  with 
disdain,  murmuring: 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  with  that?" 

"Why,  my  dear,  I  thought  you  would  be  glad. 
You  never  go  out,  and  this  is  such  a  fine  oppor- 
tunity. I  had  great  trouble  to  get  it.  Every  one 
desires  to  go ;  it  is  very  select,  and  they  are  not  giv- 
ing many  invitations  to  clerks.  The  whole  official 
world  will  be  there." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  irritated  glance,  and 
said  impatiently: 


348  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"And  what  do  you  wish  me  to  put  on  my  back?" 

He  had  not  thought  of  that;  he  stammered: 

"Why,  the  gown  you  go  to  the  theater  in.  It 
looks  very  well  to  me." 

He  stopped,  distracted,  seeing  that  his  wife  was 
weeping.  Two  great  tears  ran  slowly  from  the  cor- 
ners of  her  eyes  toward  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"What's  the  matter?  What's  the  matter?"  he 
answered. 

By  a  violent  effort  she  conquered  her  grief,  and 
replied,  with  a  calm  voice,  while  she  wiped  her 
cheeks : 

"Nothing.  Only  I  have  no  gown,  and,  therefore, 
I  can't  go  to  this  ball.  Give  your  card  to  some  col- 
league whose  wife  is  better  equipped  than  I." 

He  was  in  despair.    He  resumed: 

"Come,  let  us  see,  Mathilde.  How  much  would 
it  cost,  a  suitable  gown,  which  you  could  use  on 
other  occasions — something  very  simple?" 

She  reflected  several  seconds,  making  her  calcu- 
lations and  wondering  also  what  sum  she  could  ask 
without  drawing  on  herself  an  immediate  refusal 
and  a  frightened  exclamation  from  the  economical 
clerk. 

Finally  she  replied  hesitatingly: 

"I  don't  know  exactly,  but  I  think  I  could  man- 
age it  with  four  hundred  francs." 

He  grew  a  little  pale,  because  he  was  laying  aside 
just  that  amount  to  buy  a  gun  and  treat  himself 
to  a  little  shooting  next  summer  on  the  plain  of 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE          349 

Nanterre,  with  several  friends  who  went  to  shoot 
larks  there  of  a  Sunday.  But  he  said : 

"Very  well.  I  will  give  you  four  hundred  francs. 
And  try  to  have  a  pretty  gown." 

The  day  of  the  ball  drew  near,  and  Madame  Loi- 
sel  seemed  sad,  uneasy,  anxious.  Her  frock  was 
ready,  however.  Her  husband  said  to  her  one 
svening : 

"What  is  the  matter?  Come,  you  have  seemed 
very  queer  these  last  three  days." 

And  she  answered : 

"It  annoys  me  not  to  have  a  single  jewel,  not  a 
single  stone,  nothing  to  put  on.  I  shall  look  pover- 
ty-stricken. I  should  almost  rather  not  go  at  all." 

"You  might  wear  natural  flowers,"  said  her 
husband.  "They're  very  stylish  at  this  time  of 
the  year.  For  ten  francs  you  can  get  two  or  three 
magnificent  roses." 

She  was  not  convinced. 

"No;  there's  nothing  more  humiliating  than  to 
look  poor  among  other  women  who  are  rich." 

"How  stupid  you  are!"  her  husband  cried. 
"Go  look  up  your  friend  Madame  Forestier,  and 
ask  her  to  lend  you  some  jewels.  You're  intimate 
enough  with  her  to  do  that." 

She  uttered  a  cry  of  joy : 

"True!    I  never  thought  of  it." 

The  next  day  she  went  to  her  friend  and  told  of 
her  distress. 

Madame  Forestier  went  to  a  wardrobe  with  a 


350  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

glass  door,  took  out  a  large  jewel  box,  brought  it 
back,  opened  it,  and  said  to  Madame  Loisel: 

"Choose,  my  dear." 

She  saw  first  some  bracelets ;  then  a  pearl  neck- 
lace, then  a  Venetian  cross  of  gold  and  precious 
stones,  of  admirable  workmanship.  She  tried  on 
the  ornaments  before  the  mirror,  hesitated,  but 
could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  part  with  them,  to 
give  them  back.  She  kept  asking: 

"Haven't  you  any  more?" 

"Why,  yes.  Look  further;  I  don't  know  what 
you  like." 

Suddenly  she  discovered,  in  a  black  satin  box,  a 
superb  diamond  necklace,  and  her  heart  throbbed 
with  an  immoderate  desire.  Her  hands  trembled  as 
she  took  it.  She  fastened  it  around  her  throat,  out- 
side her  high-necked  waist,  and  was  lost  in  ecstasy 
at  sight  of  herself. 

Then  she  asked,  hesitatingly : 

"Will  you  lend  me  this,  only  this?" 

"Why,  yes,  certainly." 

She  threw  her  arms  round  her  friend's  neck, 
kissed  her  passionately,  then  fled  with  her  treasure. 

The  night  of  the  ball  arrived.  Madame  Loisel 
made  a  great  success.  She  was  prettier  than  any 
other  woman  present,  elegant,  graceful,  smiling, 
and  intoxicated  with  joy.  All  the  men  looked  at 
her,  asked  her  name,  endeavored  to  be  introduced. 
All  the  attaches  of  the  Cabinet  wished  to  wnltz  with 
her.  She  was  remarked  by  the  Minister  himself. 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE          351 

She  danced  with  rapture,  with  passion,  made 
drunk  by  pleasure,  forgetting  all,  in  the  triumph  of 
her  beauty,  in  the  glory  of  her  success,  in  a  cloud 
of  happiness  composed  of  all  this  homage,  admira- 
tion, awakened  desires,  and  that  sense  of  triumph 
which  is  so  sweet  to  woman's  heart. 

She  left  the  ball  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. Her  husband  had  been  sleeping  since  mid- 
night, in  a  little  deserted  anteroom,  with  three  other 
gentlemen  whose  wives  were  enjoying  the  ball. 

He  threw  over  her  shoulders  the  wraps  he  had 
brought,  the  modest  wraps  of  common  life,  the 
poverty  of  which  contrasted  with  the  elegance  of 
the  ball-dress.  She  felt  this,  and  wished  to  escape 
so  as  not  to  be  remarked  by  the  other  women,  who 
were  enveloping  themselves  in  costly  furs. 
Loisel  held  her  back,  saying:  "Wait  a  bit.  You 
will  take  cold  outside.  I  will  call  a  cab." 

But  she  did  not  listen  to  him,  and  rapidly  de- 
scended the  stairs.  When  they  reached  the  street 
they  could  not  find  a  carriage,  and  began  to  look 
for  one,  shouting  after  the  cabmen  passing  at  a 
distance. 

They  went  toward  the  Seine,  in  despair,  shiver- 
ing with  cold.  At  last  they  found  on  the  quay  one 
of  those  ancient  night  cabs  which,  as  if  they  were 
ashamed  to  show  their  shabbiness  during  the  day, 
are  never  seen  round  Paris  until  after  dark. 

It  took  them  to  their  dwelling  in  the  Rue  des 
Martyrs,  and  sadly  they  climbed  up  homeward.  All 


352  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

was  ended,  for  her.  As  to  him,  he  reflected  that 
he  must  be  at  the  Ministry  at  ten  o'clock  that 
morning. 

She  removed  her  wraps  before  the  glass  so  as  to 
see  herself  once  more  in  all  her  glory.  But  sud- 
denly she  uttered  a  cry.  She  no  longer  had  the 
necklace  round  her  neck ! 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  demanded  her 
husband,  already  half  undressed. 

She  turned  madly  toward  him. 

"I  have — I  have — I've  lost  Madame  Forestier's 
necklace,"  she  cried. 

He  stood  up,  distracted. 

«  what !— How  ?— Impossible !" 

They  looked  among  the  folds  of  her  skirt,  of  her 
cloak,  in  her  pockets,  everywhere,  but  did  not 
find  it. 

"You're  sure  you  had  it  on  when  you  left  the 
ball?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I  felt  it  in  the  vestibule  of  the  palace." 

"But  if  you  had  lost  it  in  the  street  we  should 
have  heard  it  fall.  It  must  be  in  the  cab." 

"Yes,  probably.    Did  you  take  his  number?" 

"No.    And  you — didn't  you  notice  it?" 

"No." 

They  looked,  thunderstruck,  at  each  other.  At 
last  Loisel  put  on  his  clothes. 

"I  shall  go  back  on  foot,"  said  he,  "over  the 
whole  route,  to  see  whether  I  can  find  it." 

He  went  out.    She  sat  waiting  on  a  chair  in  her 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE          353 

ball-dress,  without  strength  to  go  to  bed,  over- 
whelmed, without  fire,  without  a  thought. 

Her  husband  returned  about  seven  o'clock.  He 
had  found  nothing. 

He  went  to  police  headquarters,  to  the  newspaper 
offices,  to  offer  a  reward;  he  went  to  the  cab  com- 
panies— everywhere,  in  fact,  whither  he  was  urged 
by  the  least  spark  of  hope. 

She  waited  all  day,  in  the  same  condition  of  mad 
fear  before  this  terrible  calamity. 

Loisel  returned  at  night  with  a  hollow,  pale  face ; 
he  had  discovered  nothing. 

"You  must  write  to  your  friend,"  said  he,  "that 
you  have  broken  the  clasp  of  her  necklace  and  that 
you  are  having  it  mended.  That  will  give  us  time 
to  turn  round." 

She  wrote  at  his  dictation. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  they  had  lost  all  hope. 
Loisel,  who  had  aged  five  years,  declared: 

"We  must  consider  how  to  replace  the  necklace." 

The  next  day  they  took  the  box  that  had  con- 
tained it,  and  went  to  the  jeweler  whose  name  was 
found  within.  He  consulted  his  books. 

"It  was  not  I,  Madame,  who  sold  that  necklace; 
I  must  simply  have  furnished  the  case." 

Then  they  went  from  jeweler  to  jeweler,  searcn- 
ing  for  a  necklace  like  the  other,  consulting  their 
memories,  both  sick  with  chagrin  and  anguish. 

They  found,  in  a  shop  at  the  Palais  Royal,  a 
string  of  diamonds  that  seemed  to  them  exactly  like 


354  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

the  one  they  had  lost.  It  was  worth  forty  thousand 
francs.  They  could  have  it  for  thirty-six. 

So  they  begged  the  jeweler  not  to  sell  it  for 
three  days  yet.  And  they  made  a  bargain  that  he 
should  buy  it  back  for  thirty-four  thousand  francs, 
in  case  they  should  find  the  lost  necklace  before  the 
end  of  February. 

Loisel  had  eighteen  thousand  francs  which  his 
father  had  left  him.  He  would  borrow  the  rest. 

He  did  borrow,  asking  a  thousand  francs  of  one, 
five  hundred  of  another,  five  louis  here,  three  louis 
there.  He  gave  notes,  entered  into  ruinous  obliga- 
tions, dealt  with  usurers  and  all  the  race  of  lenders. 
He  compromised  all  the  rest  of  his  life,  risked  his 
signature  without  even  knowing  whether  he  could 
meet  its  promise ;  and,  frightened  by  the  trouble  yet 
to  come,  by  the  black  misery  that  was  about  to  fall 
upon  him,  by  the  prospect  of  all  the  physical  priva- 
tions and  moral  tortures  that  he  was  to  suffer,  he 
went  to  get  the  new  necklace,  laying  upon  the 
jeweler's  counter  thirty-six  thousand  francs. 

When  Madame  Loisel  took  back  the  necklace, 
Madame  Forestier  said  to  her,  with  a  chilly  man- 
ner: 

"You  should  have  returned  it  sooner;  I  might 
have  needed  it." 

She  did  not  open  the  case,  as  her  friend  had  so 
much  feared.  If  she  had  detected  the  substitution, 
what  would  she  have  thought,  what  would  she  have 
said?  Would  she  not  have  taken  Madame  Loisel 
for  a  thief? 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE          355 

Thereafter  Madame  Loisel  knew  the  horrible  ex- 
istence of  the  needy.  She  bore  her  part,  however, 
with  sudden  heroism.  That  dreadful  debt  must  be 
paid.  She  would  pay  it.  They  dismissed  their 
servant ;  they  changed  their  lodgings ;  they  rented  a 
garret. 

She  came  to  know  what  heavy  housework  meant 
and  the  odious  cares  of  the  kitchen.  She  washed 
the  dishes,  using  her  dainty  fingers  and  rosy  nails 
on  greasy  pots  and  pans.  She  washed  the  soiled 
linen,  the  shirts,  and  the  dishcloths,  which  she  dried 
upon  a  line;  she  carried  the  slops  down  to  the 
street  every  morning,  and  carried  up  the  water, 
stopping  for  breath  at  every  landing.  And,  dressed 
like  a  woman  of  the  people,  she  went  to  the  fruit- 
erer, the  grocer,  the  butcher,  a  basket  on  her  arm, 
bargaining,  insulted,  defending  her  pitiful  money 
sou  by  sou. 

Every  month  they  had  to  meet  some  notes,  renew 
others,  obtain  more  time. 

Her  husband  worked  evenings,  making  a  fair 
copy  of  some  tradesman's  accounts,  and  late  at 
night  he  often  copied  manuscript  for  five  sous  a 
page. 

This  life  lasted  ten  years. 

At  the  end  of  ten  years  they  had  paid  every- 
thing, everything,  with  the  rates  of  usury  and  the 
accumulations  of  compound  interest. 

Madame  Loisel  looked  old  now.  She  had  be- 
come the  woman  of  impoverished  households — 


356  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

strong  and  hard  and  rough.  With  frowsy  hair, 
skirts  askew,  and  red  hands,  she  talked  loud  while 
washing  a  floor  with  great  swishes  of  water.  But 
sometimes,  when  her  husband  was  at  the  office,  she 
sat  down  near  the  window,  and  she  thought  of  that 
gay  evening  of  long  ago,  of  that  ball  where  she 
had  been  so  beautiful  and  so  admired. 

What  would  have  happened  if  she  had  not  lost 
that  necklace?  Who  knows?  How  strange  and 
changeful  is  life!  How  little  a  thing  is  needed 
for  us  to  be  lost  or  saved ! 

But,  one  Sunday,  having  gone  to  take  a  walk  in 
the  Champs  Elysees  to  refresh  herself  from  the 
labors  of  the  week,  she  suddenly  perceived  a 
woman  who  was  leading  a  child.  It  was  Madame 
Forestier,  still  young,  still  beautiful,  still  charming. 

Madame  Loisel  felt  moved.  Should  she  speak 
to  her?  Yes,  certainly.  And  now  that  she  had 
paid,  she  would  tell  her  all  about  it.  Why  not? 

She  went  up. 

"Good  day,  Jeanne." 

The  other,  astonished  to  be  familiarly  addressed 
by  this  plain  good-wife,  did  not  recognize  her  at 
all,  and  stammered: 

"But — Madame ! — I  do  not  know You  must 

have  mistaken." 

"No.    I  am  Mathilde  Loisel." 

Her  friend  uttered  a  cry. 

"Oh,  my  poor  Mathilde!  How  you  are 
changed !" 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE         357 

"Yes,  I  have  had  days  hard  enough,  since  I  have 
seen  you,  days  wretched  enough — and  that  because 
of  you !" 

"Of  me!    How  so?" 

"Do  you  remember  that  diamond  necklace  you 
loaned  me  to  wear  at  the  ministerial  ball?" 

"Yes.    Well?" 

"Well,  I  lost  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?    You  brought  it  back." 

"I  brought  you  back  another  exactly  like  it. 
And  for  this  we  have  been  ten  years  paying.  You 
can  understand  that  it  was  not  easy  for  us,  us 
who  had  nothing.  At  last  it  is  ended,  and  I  am 
glad." 

Madame  Forestier  had  stopped. 

"You  say  that  you  bought  a  necklace  of  dia- 
monds to  replace  mine?" 

"Yes.  You  never  noticed  it,  then!  They  were 
very  like." 

And  she  smiled  with  a  joy  that  was  at  once  proud 
and  naive. 

Madame  Forestier,  deeply  moved,  took  her 
hands. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  Mathilde !  Why,  my  necklace  was 
paste!  It  was  worth  at  most  only  five  hundred 
francs!" 


DUCHOUX 

BARON  DE  MORDIANE  kept  his  fur  coat  un- 
buttoned when  he  descended  the  wide  stair- 
case of  the  club,  which  was  over-heated  by  a 
stove,  and  when  he  reached  the  street  a  shiver 
ran  over  him,  one  of  those  that  come  when  the  sys- 
tem is  depressed.  For  he  had  lost  money  and  his 
digestion  had  troubled  him  for  some  time,  so  that 
he  could  not  eat  what  he  enjoyed. 

He  returned  to  his  own  residence;  and  suddenly 
the  thought  of  his  great,  empty  apartment,  of  his 
footman  asleep  in  the  ante-chamber,  of  the  dres- 
sing-room in  which  the  water  was  kept  warm  for 
his  evening  toilet  on  a  gas  stove,  and  the  large,  an- 
tique, solemn-looking  bed  like  a  mortuary  couch, 
caused  another  chill  to  penetrate  his  whole  being. 

For  some  years  past  he  had  felt  that  load  of 
solitude  which  sometimes  crushes  old  bachelors. 
Formerly,  he  had  been  strong,  lively,  and  gay,  giv- 
ing his  days  to  sport  and  his  nights  to  festive 
gatherings.  Now,  he  had  grown  dull,  and  no 
longer  took  pleasure  in  anything.  Exercise  fa- 

358 


DUCHOUX  359 

tigued  him;  suppers  and  even  dinners  made  him 
ill;  women  annoyed  him  as  much  as  they  had  for- 
merly amused  him. 

The  monotony  of  evenings  all  alike,  of  always 
meeting  the  same  friends  in  the  same  place,  at  the 
club,  of  the  same  game  with  a  good  hand  and  a  run 
of  luck,  of  the  same  talk  on  the  same  topics,  of  the 
same  witty  remarks  by  the  same  lips,  of  the  same 
jokes  on  the  same  themes,  of  the  same  scandals 
about  the  same  women,  disgusted  him  and  made 
him  feel  at  times  a  strong  inclination  to  commit 
suicide.  He  could  not  lead  this  regular,  inane  life, 
commonplace,  frivolous  and  dull,  and  he  felt  a 
longing  for  something  tranquil,  restful,  comfortable, 
without  knowing  what. 

He  certainly  did  not  think  of  marrying,  for  he 
feared  he  had  not  sufficient  fortitude  to  submit 
to  that  melancholy  conjugal  servitude,  to  that  hate- 
ful existence  of  two  beings  who,  always  together, 
know  each  other  so  well  that  one  cannot  utter  a 
word  which  the  other  would  not  anticipate,  could 
not  make  a  single  movement  which  would  not  be 
foreseen,  could  not  have  any  thought,  desire,  or 
opinion  that  would  not  be  divined.  He  considered 
that  a  woman  was  interesting  only  when  you  knew 
her  but  slightly,  when  there  is  something  mysteri- 
ous and  unexplored  about  her,  when  she  remains 
an  enigma,  hidden  behind  a  veil.  What  he  would 
desire  would  be  a  family  without  family  life, 
wherein  he  might  spend  only  a  portion  of  his  exist- 


360  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ence.  But  he  was  also  haunted  by  the  recollection 
of  his  son. 

For  the  past  year,  he  had  been  constantly  think- 
ing of  this,  feeling  an  irritating  desire  springing  up 
within  him.  He  had  become  the  father  of  this  child 
while  still  a  young  man,  in  the  midst  of  dramatic 
and  touching  incidents.  The  boy,  sent  to  the  South, 
had  been  brought  up  near  Marseilles  without  ever 
hearing  his  father's  name. 

He  had  at  first  paid  for  the  child  from  month 
to  month,  for  his  nurture,  education,  and  the  ex- 
pense of  holidays,  and  finally  had  provided  an  al- 
lowance for  him  on  his  making  a  sensible  match. 
A  discreet  notary  had  acted  as  intermediary,  with- 
out ever  disclosing  anything. 

The  Baron  de  Mordiane  accordingly  knew  merely 
that  a  child  of  his  was  living  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Marseilles,  that  he  was  looked 
upon  as  intelligent  and  well-educated,  and  that  he 
had  married  the  daughter  of  an  architect  and  con- 
tractor to  whose  business  he  had  succeeded.  He 
was  also  believed  to  be  wealthy. 

Why  should  he  not  go  and  see  this  unknown  son 
without  telling  his  name,  in  order  to  form  an  opin- 
ion about  him,  and  to  assure  himself  whether,  in 
case  of  necessity,  he  might  find  an  agreeable  refuge 
in  this  family. 

He  had  acted  handsomely  toward  the  young  man, 
had  settled  a  good  fortune  on  him,  which  had  been 
thankfully  accepted.  He  was,  therefore,  certain 


DUCHOUX  361 

that  he  would  not  find  himself  clashing  against  any 
inordinate  sense  of  self-importance;  and  this  de- 
sire of  setting  out  for  the  South,  which  was  renewed 
each  day,  acted  like  a  kind  of  irritant.  A  strange, 
selfish  feeling  of  affection  also  attracted  him  as  he 
pictured  this  pleasant,  warm  abode  by  the  seaside, 
where  he  would  meet  his  young  and  pretty  daugh- 
ter-in-law, his  grandchildren  with  outstretched 
arms,  and  his  son,  who  would  recall  to  his  memory 
the  charming  and  short-lived  adventure  of  bygone 
years.  He  regretted  only  having  given  so  much 
money,  and  that  this  money  had  prospered  in  the 
young  man's  hands,  thus  preventing  him  from  any 
longer  presenting  himself  in  the  character  of  a 
benefactor. 

He  hurried  along  with  the  collar  of  his  fur  coat 
turned  up,  his  mind  full  of  all  these  thoughts.  Sud- 
denly he  made  up  his  mind.  A  cab  was  passing ;  he 
hailed  it,  drove  home,  and,  when  his  valet,  just 
roused  from  a  nap,  had  opened  the  door,  he  said : 

"Louis,  we  set  out  to-morrow  evening  for  Mar- 
seilles. We  shall  remain  there  perhaps  a  fortnight. 
You  will  make  all  the  necessary  preparations." 

The  train  rushed  on  past  the  Rhone  with  its 
sand-banks,  then  through  yellow  plains,  bright  vil- 
lages, and  a  wide  expanse  of  country,  shut  in  by 
bare  mountains,  which  rose  on  the  distant  horizon. 

The  Baron  de  Mordiane,  after  a  night  spent  in 
a  sleeping  compartment,  looked  at  himself,  in  a 
melancholy  fashion,  in  the  little  mirror  of  his  dress- 

Vol.  1—24 


362  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ing-case.  The  glaring  sun  of  the  South  showed 
him  some  wrinkles  which  he  had  not  observed 
before — a  condition  of  decrepitude  unnoticed  in 
the  imperfect  light  of  Parisian  rooms.  He  thought, 
as  he  examined  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  and  saw 
the  wrinkled  lids,  the  temples,  the  skinny  forehead : 

"Damn  it!  not  merely  is  the  gloss  taken  off — 
I've  become  quite  a  regular  fossil." 

And  his  desire  for  rest  suddenly  increased,  with 
a  vague  yearning,  born  in  him  for  the  first  time,  to 
take  his  grandchildren  on  his  knees. 

About  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  Baron 
arrived  in  a  landau,  which  he  had  hired  at  Mar- 
seilles, at  the  gate  of  one  of  those  houses  of  South- 
ern France  so  dazzlingly  white,  at  the  end  of  their 
avenues  of  plane-trees,  that  they  almost  blind  one 
at  first.  He  smiled  as  he  pursued  his  way  along  the 
avenue  leading  to  the  house,  and  reflected: 

"Deuce  take  it!  this  is  a  nice  place." 

Suddenly,  a  young  rogue  of  five  or  six  darted  out 
of  the  shrubbery,  and  remained  standing  at  the  side 
of  the  path,  staring  at  the  gentleman. 

Mordiane  went  over  to  him. 

"Good  morning,  my  boy." 

The  child  made  no  reply. 

The  Baron,  stooping,  took  him  up  in  his  arms  to 
kiss  him,  but  the  smell  of  garlic  with  which  the 
child  seemed  impregnated  almost  suffocated  him, 
and  he  quickly  put  him  down  again,  muttering: 

"Oh!   it  is  the  gardener's  son." 


DUCHOUX  363 

And  he  proceeded  toward  the  house. 

The  linen  was  hanging  out  on  a  line  before  the 
door — shirts  and  chemises,  napkins,  dish-cloths, 
aprons,  and  sheets,  while  a  row  of  socks,  hanging 
from  strings  one  above  the  other,  filled  up  an  entire 
window,  like  sausages  exposed  for  sale  in  front  of 
a  pork-butcher's  shop. 

The  Baron  announced  his  arrival.  A  servant- 
girl  apeared,  a  true  servant  of  the  South,  dirty 
and  untidy,  with  her  hair  hanging  in  wisps  over  her 
face,  while  her  petticoat,  under  the  accumulation  of 
stains  that  had  soiled  it,  retained  only  a  certain 
uncouth  remnant  of  its  former  color,  and  might 
have  done  for  the  particolored  suit  of  a  clown. 

He  asked : 

"Is  Monsieur  Duchoux  at  home?" 

Many  years  ago,  in  the  mocking  spirit  of  a  cyni- 
cal man  of  pleasure,  he  had  given  this  name  to  the 
foundling  in  order  that  it  might  not  be  forgotten 
that  he  had  been  picked  up  under  a  cabbage. 

The  servant-girl  asked: 

"Do  you  want  Monsieur  Duchoux?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  he  is  in  the  big  room,  drawing  some 
plans." 

"Tell  him  that  Monsieur  Merlin  wishes  to  speak 
to  him." 

She  replied,  in  amazement: 

"Hey!   go  inside  then,  if  you  want  to  see  him." 

And  she  bawled  out: 


364  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Mo'sieur  Duchoux — a  caller." 

The  Baron  entered,  and  in  a  spacious  apartment, 
darkened  by  the  windows  being  half-closed,  he  in- 
distinctly traced  out  persons  and  things  that  ap- 
peared to  him  very  slovenly. 

Standing  in  front  of  a  table  laden  with  articles 
of  every  sort,  a  little  bald  man  was  tracing  lines  on 
a  large  sheet  of  paper. 

He  interrupted  his  work,  and  advanced  two  steps. 
His  waistcoat  left  open,  his  unbuttoned  breeches, 
and  his  turned-up  shirt-sleeves,  indicated  that  he 
felt  hot,  and  his  muddy  shoes  showed  that  it  had 
been  raining  hard  for  some  days.  He  asked  with 
a  very  broad  Southern  accent: 

"Whom  have  I  the  honor  of ?" 

"Monsieur  Merlin;  I  came  to  consult  you  about 
the  purchase  of  a  building-lot." 

"Ha!  ha!  that  is  good." 

And  Duchoux,  turning  toward  his  wife,  who  was 
knitting  in  the  shade,  said : 

"Clear  off  a  chair,  Josephine." 

Mordiane  then  saw  a  young  woman,  who  ap- 
peared prematurely  old,  as  women  look  old  at 
twenty-five  in  the  provinces,  for  want  of  attention 
to  their  persons,  of  regular  baths,  and  all  the  little 
cares  bestowed  on  the  feminine  toilet  that  freshen 
and  preserve,  till  the  age  of  fifty,  the  charm  and 
beauty  of  the  sex.  With  a  kerchief  over  her  shoul- 
ders, her  hair  clumsily  braided — though  it  was 
lovely  hair,  thick  and  black,  one  could  see  that  it 


DUCHOUX  365 

was  badly  brushed — she  stretched  out  hands  like 
those  of  a  servant,  and  removed  an  infant's  robe, 
a  knife,  a  fag-end  of  packthread,  an  empty  flower- 
pot, and  a  greasy  plate  left  on  the  seat  of  a  chair, 
which  she  then  moved  over  toward  the  visitor. 

He  sat  down,  and  presently  noticed  that 
Duchoux's  work-table  had  on  it,  in  addition  to  the 
books  and  papers,  two  lettuces  recently  gathered,  a 
wash-basin,  a  hair-brush,  a  napkin,  a  revolver,  and 
cups  that  had  not  been  washed. 

The  architect  perceived  this  look,  and  said  with  a 
smile: 

"Excuse  us!  The  room  is  rather  untidy — owing 
to  the  children." 

And  he  drew  over  his  chair  in  order  to  chat  with 
his  client. 

"So  you  are  looking  out  for  a  piece  of  ground 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Marseilles  ?" 

His  breath  carried  toward  the  Baron  that  odor- 
of  garlic  which  the  people  of  the  South  exhale  as 
flowers  shed  their  perfume. 

Mordiane  asked: 

"Is  it  your  son  that  I  met  under  the  plane- 
trees?" 

"Yes.    Yes,  the  second." 

"You  have  two  of  them?" 

"Three,  Monsieur,  one  a  year." 

And  Duchoux  looked  full  of  pride. 

The  Baron  was  thinking  to  himself : 

"If  they  all  have  the  same  perfume,  their  nursery 


366  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

must  be  a  real  conservatory."    Then  he  continued: 

"Yes,  I  should  like  a  nice  piece  of  ground  near 
the  sea,  on  a  little  solitary  strip  of  beach " 

Thereupon  Duchoux  proceeded  to  explain.  He 
had  ten,  twenty,  fifty,  a  hundred,  or  more,  pieces  of 
ground  of  the  kind  required,  at  different  prices  and 
suited  to  different  tastes.  He  talked  as  a  fountain 
flows,  smiling,  self-satisfied,  wagging  his  bald 
round  head. 

And  Mordiane  was  reminded  of  a  little  woman, 
fair-haired,  slight,  with  a  somewhat  melancholy 
look,  and  a  tender  fashion  of  murmuring,  "My  dar- 
ling," the  mere  remembrance  of  which  stirred  the 
blood  in  his  veins.  She  had  loved  him  passion- 
ately, madly,  for  three  months ;  then,  becoming  en- 
ceinte in  the  absence  of  her  husband,  who  was  gov- 
ernor of  a  colony,  she  had  run  away  and  concealed 
herself,  distracted  with  despair  and  terror,  till  the 
birth  of  the  child,  which  Mordiane  carried  off  one 
summer  evening,  and  which  they  had  not  seen  after- 
ward. 

She  died  of  consumption  three  years  later,  in  the 
colony  of  which  her  husband  was  governor,  whither 
she  had  gone  to  join  him.  And  here  before  him 
was  their  son,  who  was  saying,  in  metallic  tones, 
as  he  rang  out  his  closing  words : 

"This  piece  of  ground,  Monsieur,  is  a  rare  bar- 
gain  " 

And  Mordiane  recalled  the  other  voice,  light  as 
the  touch  of  a  gentle  b«*eze,  as  it  used  to  murmur : 


DUCHOUX  367 


My  darling,   we  shall   never  part- 


And  he  remembered  the  soft,  deep,  devoted  glance 
in  those  blue  eyes,  as  he  watched  the  round,  vacant 
eyes,  though  also  blue,  of  this  ridiculous  little  man, 
who,  in  spite  of  all,  bore  a  resemblance  to  his 
mother. 

Yes,  he  looked  more  like  her  every  moment — 
like  her  in  accent,  in  movement,  in  his  entire  de- 
portment. He  resembled  her,  but  as  an  ape  resem- 
bles a  man.  Still  he  was  hers ;  he  displayed  a  thou- 
sand external  characteristics  peculiar  to  her,  though 
in  a  distorted,  irritating,  and  revolting  form. 

The  Baron  was  galled,  haunted  as  he  was  all  of  a 
sudden  by  this  resemblance,  horrible,  each  instant 
growing  stronger,  exasperating,  maddening,  tortur- 
ing him  like  a  nightmare,  like  a  weight  of  remorse. 

He  stammered  out: 

"When  can  we  look  at  this  piece  of  ground  to- 
gether?" 

"Why,  to-morrow,  if  you  like." 

"Well,  yes,  to-morrow.    At  what  hour?" 

"One  o'clock." 

"Very  well." 

The  child  he  had  met  in  the  avenue  appeared  be- 
fore the  open  door,  exclaiming: 

"Dada!" 

There  was  no  answer. 

Mordiane  had  risen  with  a  longing  to  run  away, 
which  made  his  legs  tremble.  This  "dada"  had  hit 
him  like  a  bullet.  It  was  to  him  that  it  was  ad- 


368  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

dressed,  it  was  intended  for  him,  this  "dada,"  smell- 
ing of  garlic,  this  "dada"  of  the  South! 

Oh !  how  sweet  had  been  the  perfume  exhaled  by 
her,  his  sweetheart  of  bygone  days ! 

Duchoux  saw  him  to  the  door. 

"This  house  is  your  own?"  said  the  Baron. 

"Yes,  Monsieur;  I  bought  it  recently.  And  I  am 
proud  of  it.  I  am  a  child  of  accident,  Monsieur, 
and  I  don't  care  to  hide  it.  I  am  proud  of  it.  I 
owe  nothing  to  any  one;  I  am  the  son  of  my  own 
efforts;  I  owe  everything  to  myself." 

The  little  boy,  who  remained  on  the  threshold 
kept  on  exclaiming,  though  at  some  distance: 

"Dada!" 

Mordiane,  shaking  as  with  a  chill,  seized  with 
panic,  fled  as  one  flees  from  a  great  danger. 

"He  is  about  to  guess  who  I  am,  to  recognize 
me,"  he  thought.  "He  is  about  to  take  me  in  his 
arms,  and  call  out  to  me  'dada'  while  giving  me  a 
kiss  perfumed  with  garlic." 

"To-morrow,  Monsieur." 

"To-morrow,  at  one  o'clock." 

The  landau  rolled  over  the  white  road. 

"Coachman!   to  the  railway-station!" 

And  he  heard  two  voices,  one  far-away  and 
sweet,  the  faint,  sad  voice  of  the  dead,  saying: 
"My  darling,"  and  the  other  sonorous,  sing-song, 
frightful,  bawling  out,  "Dada,"  just  as  people  bawl 
out  "Stop  him!"  when  a  thief  is  flying  through 
the  street. 


DUCHOUX  369 

Next  evening  as  he  entered  the  club,  the  Count 
d'Etreillis  said  to  him : 

"We  have  not  seen  you  for  the  last  three  days. 
Have  you  been  ill?" 

"Yes,  a  little  indisposed.  I  get  these  headaches 
from  time  to  time." 


TIMBUCTOO 

THAT  river  of  humanity,  the  boulevard,  was 
alive  with  people  in  the  golden  light  of  the 
setting  sun.  The  sky  was  red,  blinding;  and 
behind  the  Madeleine  a  great  bank  of  flaming  clouds 
cast  a  shower  of  light  the  whole  length  of  the 
boulevard,  vibrant  as  the  heat  from  a  brazier. 

The  gay,  animated  crowd  went  by  in  this  golden 
mist,  and  appeared  to  be  glorified.  Their  faces  were 
gilded,  their  black  hats  and  clothes  took  on  purple 
tints,  the  patent  leather  on  their  shoes  cast  bright 
reflections  on  the  asphalt  of  the  sidewalk. 

Before  the  cafes  a  mass  of  men  were  drinking 
opalescent  liquids  that  looked  like  precious  stones 
dissolved  in  the  glasses. 

In  the  midst  of  them  two  officers  in  uniform 
dazzled  all  eyes  with  their  glittering  gold  lace.  They 
chatted,  happy  without  asking  why,  in  this  glory 
of  life,  in  this  radiant  light  of  sunset,  and  they 
looked  at  the  crowd,  the  leisurely  men  and  the 
hurrying  women,  who  left  a  bewildering  odor  of 
perfume  as  they  passed  by. 

All  at  once  an  enormous  negro,  dressed  in  black, 

370 


TIMBUCTOO  371 

with  a  paunch  beneath  his  jean  waistcoat,  which 
was  covered  with  charms,  his  face  shining  as  if  it 
had  been  polished,  passed  before  them  with  a  tri- 
umphant air.  He  laughed  at  the  passers-by,  at  the 
news  vendors,  at  the  dazzling  sky,  at  all  Paris. 
He  was  so  tall  that  he  overtopped  every  one  else, 
and  when  he  had  passed  all  the  loungers  turned 
round  to  look  at  his  back. 

But  he  suddenly  perceived  the  officers,  and  darted 
toward  them,  jostling  the  drinkers  in  his  path.  As 
soon  as  he  reached  their  table  he  fixed  his  delighted 
eyes  upon  them,  and  his  mouth  expanded  to  his 
ears,  showing  his  dazzling  white  teeth  like  a  crescent 
moon  in  a  black  sky.  The  two  men  looked  in  aston- 
ishment at  this  ebony  giant,  unable  to  understand 
his  delight. 

With  a  voice  that  made  the  guests  laugh,  he  said : 

"Good  day,  my  Lieutenant." 

One  of  the  officers  was  commander  of  a  battalion, 
the  other  was  a  colonel.  The  former  said : 

"  I  do  not  know  you,  sir ;  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know 
what  you  want  of  me." 

"We  like  you  much,  Lieutenant  VeMie,  siege  of 
Bezi,  much  grapes,  find  me." 

The  officer,  bewildered,  looked  at  the  man  in- 
tently, trying  to  refresh  his  memory;  then  he  ex- 
claimed abruptly: 

"Timbuctoo?" 

The  negro,  radiant,  slapped  his  thigh  as  he  ut- 
tered a  tremendous  laugh  and  roared : 


372  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"Yes,  yes,  my  Lieutenant,  you  remember  Tim- 
buctoo !  Ya,  how  do  you  do  ?" 

The  commandant  held  out  his  hand,  laughing 
heartily.  Then  Timbuctoo  became  serious,  seized 
the  officer's  hand,  and,  before  the  other  could  pre- 
vent it,  he  kissed  it,  according  to  negro  and  Arab 
custom.  The  officer,  embarrassed,  said  in  a  severe 
tone: 

"Come,  now,  Timbuctoo,  we  are  not  in  Africa. 
Sit  down  there  and  tell  me  how  it  is  that  I  find 
you  here." 

Timbuctoo  swelled  himself  out  and,  his  words 
falling  over  one  another,  replied  hurriedly : 

"I  make  much  money,  much,  big  restaurant,  good 
food,  Prussians,  me  much  steal,  much,  French  cook- 
ing, Timbuctoo,  cook  to  the  Emperor,  two  thousand 
francs  mine.  Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

And  he  laughed,  doubling  himself  up,  roaring, 
with  wild  delight  in  his  glances. 

When  the  officer,  who  understood  his  manner  of 
expressing  himself,  had  questioned  him,  he  said: 

"Well,  au  revoir,  Timbuctoo.  I  will  see  you 
again." 

The  negro  rose,  this  time  shaking  the  hand  that 
was  extended  to  him,  and,  smiling  still,  said: 

"Good  day,  my  Lieutenant!" 

He  went  off,  so  happy  that  he  gesticulated  as  he 
walked,  and  people  thought  he  was  crazy. 

"Who  is  that  brute?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"A  fine  fellow  and  a  brave  soldier.     I  will  eeH 


TIMBUCTOO  373 

you  what  I  know  about  him.  It  is  funny  enough. 
"You  know  that  at  the  beginning  of  the  war  of 
1870  I  was  shut  up  in  Bezieres,  which  this  negro 
called  Bezi.  We  were  not  besieged,  but  blockaded. 
The  Prussian  lines  surrounded  us,  outside  the  reach 
:>f  cannon,  not  firing  on  us,  but  slowly  starving  us 

DUt. 

"I  was  then  lieutenant.  Our  garrison  consisted 
of  all  descriptions  of  soldiers,  fragments  of  slaugh- 
tered regiments,  some  that  had  run  away,  and  free- 
booters separated  from  the  main  army.  We  had  all 
kinds — in  fact,  even  eleven — Turcos  (Algerian  sol- 
diers in  the  service  of  France),  who  arrived  one 
evening  no  one  knew  whence  or  how.  They  ap- 
peared at  the  gates  of  the  city,  exhausted,  in  rags, 
starving  and  dirty,  and  were  handed  over  to  me. 

"I  saw  very  soon  that  they  were  quite  undisci- 
plined, always  in  the  street,  and  always  drunk.  I 
tried  putting  them  in  the  guard-house,  even  in 
prison,  but  nothing  was  of  any  use.  They  would 
disappear,  sometimes  for  days  at  a  time,  as  if  they 
had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  earth,  and  then  come 
back  beastly  drunk.  They  had  no  money.  Where 
did  they  buy  drink?  And  how,  and  with  what? 

"This  began  to  worry  me  greatly,  all  the  more  as 
these  savages  interested  me  with  their  everlasting 
laugh  and  the  characteristics  of  overgrown,  frolic- 
some children. 

"I  then  noticed  that  they  implicitly  obeyed  the 
largest  among  them,  the  one  you  have  just  seen. 


374  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

He  made  them  do  as  he  pleased,  and  planned  their 
mysterious  expeditions  with  the  undisputed  author- 
ity of  a  leader.  I  sent  for  him  and  questioned  him. 
Our  conversation  lasted  three  hours,  for  it  was 
hard  for  me  to  understand  his  remarkable  gibberish. 
As  for  him,  poor  devil,  he  made  strenuous  efforts 
to  render  himself  intelligible,  invented  words,  ges- 
ticulated, perspired  in  his  anxiety,  mopping  his 
forehead,  puffing,  stopping,  and  abruptly  beginning 
again  when  he  thought  he  had  formed  some  new 
method  of  explaining  what  he  wanted  to  say. 

"I  understood,  finally,  that  he  was  the  son  of  a 
big  chief,  a  sort  of  negro  king  of  the  region  around 
Timbuctoo.  I  asked  his  name.  He  repeated  some- 
thing like  Chavaharibouhalikranapotapolara.  It 
seemed  simpler  to  me  to  give  him  the  name  of  his 
native  place,  Timbuctoo.  And  a  week  later  he  was 
known  by  no  other  name  in  the  garrison. 

"But  we  were  all  wildly  anxious  to  find  out 
where  this  African  ex-prince  procured  his  drinks. 
I  discovered  it  in  a  singular  way. 

"I  was  on  the  ramparts  one  morning,  watching 
the  horizon,  when  I  perceived  something  moving 
about  in  a  vineyard.  It  was  near  the  time  of 
vintage,  the  grapes  were  ripe,  but  I  was  not  think- 
ing of  that.  I  though  a  spy  was  approaching  the 
town,  and  I  organized  a  complete  expedition  to 
catch  the  prowler.  I  took  command  myself,  after 
obtaining  permission  from  the  general. 

"I  sent  out  by  three  different  gates  three  little 


TIMBUCTOO  375 

companies,  which  were  to  meet  at  the  suspected 
vineyard  and  form  a  cordon  round  it.  To  cut  off 
the  spy's  retreat,  one  of  these  detachments  had  to 
make  at  least  an  hour's  march.  A  watch  on  the 
walls  signaled  to  me  that  the  person  I  had  seen 
had  not  left  the  place.  We  went  along  in  profound 
silence,  creeping  along  the  paths.  At  last  we 
reached  the  spot  assigned. 

"I  abruptly  disbanded  my  soldiers,  who  darted 
into  the  vineyard,  and  found — Timbuctoo,  on  hands 
and  knees,  traveling  round  among  the  vines  and 
eating  grapes,  or,  rather,  devouring  them  as  a  dog 
eats  his  sop,  snatching  them  in  mouthfuls  from  the 
vine  with  his  teeth. 

"I  wanted  him  to  get  up,  but  he  could  not  think 
of  it.  I  then  understood  why  he  was  crawling  on 
his  hands  and  knees.  As  soon  as  we  stood  him  on 
his  feet  he  began  to  wabble,  then  stretched  out  his 
arms  and  fell  down  on  his  nose.  He  was  more 
drunk  than  I  have  ever  seen  any  one. 

"They  brought  him  home  on  two  poles.  He 
never  stopped  laughing  all  the  way  back,  gesticulat- 
ing with  his  arms  and  legs. 

"This  explained  the  mystery.  My  men  also 
drank  the  juice  of  the  grapes,  and  when  they  were 
thoroughly  intoxicated  they  went  to  sleep  in  the 
vineyard.  As  for  Timbuctoo,  his  love  of  the  vine- 
yard was  beyond  all  belief  and  all  bounds.  He 
lived  in  it  as  did  the  thrushes,  which  he  hated  with 
the  jealous  hatred  of  a  rival.  He  assured  me: 


376  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"  The  thrushes  eat  all  the  grapes,  Captain !' 

"One  evening  I  was  sent  for.  Something  had 
been  seen  on  the  plain  coming  in  our  direction.  I 
had  not  brought  my  field-glass,  and  I  could  not  dis- 
tinguish things  clearly.  It  looked  like  a  great  ser- 
pent uncoiling  itself — a  convoy,  how  could  I  tell  ? 

"I  sent  some  men  to  meet  this  strange  caravan, 
which  presently  made  its  triumphal  entry.  Timbuc- 
too  and  nine  comrades  were  carrying,  on  a  sort 
of  altar  made  of  camp  stools,  eight  grinning  and 
bleeding  heads.  The  African  was  dragging  along  a 
horse  to  whose  tail  another  head  was  fastened,  and 
six  other  animals  followed,  adorned  in  the  same 
manner. 

"This  is  what  I  learned.  Having  set  out  for  the 
vineyard,  my  Africans  had  suddenly  perceived  a 
detachment  of  Prussians  approaching  a  village.  In- 
stead of  taking  to  their  heels  they  hid  themselves, 
and  as  soon  as  the  Prussian  officers  dismounted  at 
an  inn  to  refresh  themselves,  the  ten  rascals  rushed 
on  them,  put  to  flight  the  lancers,  who  thought  they 
were  being  attacked  by  the  main  army,  and  killed 
the  two  sentries,  then  the  Colonel  and  the  five 
officers  of  his  escort. 

"That  day  I  kissed  Timbuctoo.  I  saw,  however, 
that  he  walked  with  difficulty,  and  I  thought  he  wa's 
wounded.  He  laughed  and  said : 

"  'Me,  provisions  for  my  country.' 

"Timbuctoo  was  not  fighting  for  glory,  but  for 
gain.  Everything  he  found  that  seemed  to  him  to 
be  of  the  slightest  value,  especially  anything  that 


TIMBUCTOO  377 

glistened,  he  put  into  his  pocket.  What  a  pocket! 
An  abyss  that  began  at  his  hips  and  reached  to  his 
ankles.  He  had  retained  an  old  term  used  by  the 
troopers,  and  called  it  his  profonde,  and  it  was  his 
profonde,  in  fact! 

"He  had  taken  the  gold  lace  off  the  Prussian 
uniforms,  the  brass  off  their  helmets,  detached  their 
buttons,  and  thrown  them  all  into  his  profonde, 
which  was  full  to  overflowing. 

"Each  day  he  pocketed  every  glistening  object 
that  he  saw:  pieces  of  tin  or  pieces  of  silver,  and 
sometimes  his  contour  was  very  comical. 

"He  intended  to  carry  all  that  back  to  the  land 
of  ostriches,  whose  brother  he  might  have  been,  this 
son  of  a  king,  tormented  with  the  longing  to  gobble 
up  all  objects  that  glistened.  If  he  had  not  had  his 
profonde,  what  would  he  have  done?  Doubtless  he 
would  have  swallowed  them. 

"Every  morning  his  pocket  was  empty.  He  had, 
then,  some  general  store  where  his  riches  were 
hidden.  But  where?  I  could  not  discover  it. 

"The  General,  on  being  informed  of  Timbuctoo's 
mighty  act  of  valor,  had  the  headless  bodies  that 
had  been  left  in  the  neighboring  village  interred  at 
once,  that  it  might  not  be  discovered  that  they  were 
decapitated.  The  Prussians  returned  thither  the 
following  day.  The  Mayor  and  seven  prominent 
inhabitants  were  shot  on  the  spot,  by  way  of  re- 
prisal, as  having  denounced  the  Prussians. 

"Winter  arrived.     We  were  exhausted  and  des- 

Vol.  1—25 


378  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

perate.  There  were  skirmishes  every  day.  The 
famished  men  could  no  longer  march.  The  eight 
'Turcos'  alone  (three  had  been  killed)  remained 
fat,  shiny,  vigorous,  and  always  ready  to  fight. 
Timbuctoo  was  even  getting  fatter.  He  said  to  me 
one  day: 

"  'You  much  hungry,  me  good  meat.' 
"And  he  brought  me  an  excellent  filet.  But  of 
what?  We  had  no  more  cattle,  nor  sheep,  nor 
goats,  nor  donkeys,  nor  pigs.  It  was  impossible  to 
find  a  horse.  I  thought  of  all  this  after  I  had  de- 
voured my  meat.  Then  a  horrible  idea  came  to  me. 
These  negroes  were  born  close  to  a  country  where 
human  beings  are  eaten!  And  each  day  a  number 
of  soldiers  were  killed  around  the  town.  I  ques- 
tioned Timbuctoo.  He  would  not  answer.  I  did 
not  insist,  but  from  that  time  I  declined  his  presents. 
"He  worshiped  me.  One  night  snow  took  us 
by  surprise  at  the  outposts.  We  were  seated  on  the 
ground.  I  looked  with  pity  at  those  poor  negroes, 
shivering  beneath  the  white,  frozen  shower.  I  was 
very  cold  and  began  to  cough.  At  once  I  felt  some- 
thing fall  on  me,  like  a  large  warm  quilt.  It  was 
Timbuctoo's  cape,  which  he  had  thrown  over  my 
shoulders. 

"I  rose  and  returned  his  garment,  saying: 
"  'Keep  it,  my  boy ;  you  need  it  more  than  I.' 
"  'No,  my  Lieutenant,  for  you ;  me  no  need,  me 
hot,  hot!' 

"And  he  looked  at  me  entreatingly. 


TIMBUCTOO  379 

"  'Come,  obey  orders !  Keep  your  cape.  I  in- 
sist/ I  repeated. 

"He  stood  up,  drew  his  sword,  which  he  had 
sharpened  to  an  edge  like  a  scythe,  and,  holding  in 
his  other  hand  the  large  cape  which  I  had  refused, 
said: 

"  'If  you  not  keep  cape,  me  cut;  no  one  cape.' 

"And  he  would  have  done  it.    So  I  yielded. 

"Eight  days  later  we  capitulated.  Some  of  us 
had  escaped.  The  rest  were  to  march  out  of  the 
town  and  give  themselves  up  to  the  conquerors. 

"I  went  toward  the  parade  ground,  where  we 
were  all  to  meet,  when  I  was  dumbfounded  at  the 
sight  of  a  gigantic  negro  dressed  in  white  duck  and 
wearing  a  straw  hat  in  front  of  a  little  shop  where 
two  plates  and  two  glasses  were  displayed.  It  was 
Timbuctoo. 

"  'What  are  you  doing?'  I  asked. 

"  'Me  not  go,  me  good  cook,  me  make  food  for 
(Lionel,  Algeria;  me  eat  Prussians,  much  steal, 
much/ 

"There  were  ten  degrees  of  frost.  I  shivered  at 
fight  of  this  negro  in  white  duck.  He  took  me  by 
the  arm  and  led  me  inside.  I  noticed  a  large  flag 
that  he  intended  to  place  outside  his  door  as  soon 
as  we  had  left,  for  he  had  some  shame.  I  read 
this  sign,  traced  by  the  hand  of  an  accomplice: 

"  'Army  kitchen  of  M.  Timbuctoo, 
"'Formerly  cook  to  H.  M.  the  Emperor. 
'"A  Parisian  Artist!     Moderate  Prices.' 


380  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"In  spite  of  the  despair  that  was  gnawing  at  my 
heart,  I  could  not  help  laughing,  and  I  left  my  negro 
to  his  new  enterprise. 

"Was  not  that  better  than  taking  him  prisoner? 

"You  have  just  seen  that  he  made  a  success  of 
it,  the  rascal. 

"Bezieres  to-day  belongs  to  the  Germans,  and  the 
Restaurant  Timbuctoo  is  the  beginning  of  a  retalia- 
tion." 


DENIS 

M  ARAM  EOT  smiled  when  he  opened  the  let- 
ter that  his  servant  Denis  gave  him.  For 
twenty  years  Denis  had  served  in  this  house. 
He  was  short,  stocky  and  jovial,  and  was  known 
throughout  the  countryside  as  a  model  servant.  He 
asked : 

"Is  Monsieur  pleased?  Has  Monsieur  received 
good  news?" 

M.  Marambot  was  not  rich.  He  was  an  old  vil- 
lage druggist,  a  bachelor,  who  lived  on  an  income 
acquired  with  difficulty  by  selling  drugs  to  the 
farmers.  He  answered : 

"Yes,  my  boy.  Old  man  Malois  is  afraid  of 
the  lawsuit  with  which  I  have  threatened  him.  I 
shall  get  my  money  tomorrow.  Five  thousand 
francs  are  not  liable  to  harm  the  account  of  an 
old  bachelor." 

M.  Marambot  rubbed  his  hands  with  satisfac- 
tion. He  was  a  man  of  a  quiet  temperament, 
oftener  sad  than  gay,  incapable  of  any  prolonged 
effort,  and  careless  in  business. 

381 


382  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Undoubtedly  he  could  have  amassed  a  greater 
fortune  had  he  taken  advantage  of  the  deaths  of 
colleagues  established  in  more  important  centers, 
by  taking  their  places  and  carrying  on  their  busi- 
ness. But  the  trouble  of  moving  and  the  thought 
of  the  necessary  preparations  had  always  stopped 
him.  After  thinking  the  matter  over  for  a  few 
days,  he  would  say : 

"Bah!  I'll  wait  until  the  next  time.  I'll  not 
lose  anything  by  the  delay.  I  may  even  find  some- 
thing better." 

Denis,  on  the  contrary,  was  always  urging  his 
master  to  new  enterprises.  He  would  continually 
repeat : 

"Oh!  If  I  had  only  had  the  capital  to  begin 
with,  I  could  have  made  a  fortune !  One  thousand 
francs  would  do  me." 

M.  Marambot  would  smile  without  answering 
and  go  out  into  his  little  garden,  where,  with  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  he  would  walk  around, 
dreaming. 

Denis  sang  the  joyful  refrains  of  the  folk-songs 
of  the  neighborhood  all  day  long.  He  even  showed 
an  unusual  activity,  for  he  cleaned  all  the  win- 
dows of  the  house,  energetically  rubbing  the  glass, 
and  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

Several  times,  smiling,  M.  Marambot,  surprised 
at  his  zeal,  told  him : 

"My  boy,  if  you  work  like  that  nothing  will  be 
left  for  you  to  do  to-morrow." 


DENIS  383 

The  next  day,  at  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, the  postman  gave  Denis  four  letters  for  his 
master,  one  of  them  very  heavy.  M.  Marambot 
immediately  shut  himself  up  in  his  room  until  late 
in  the  afternoon.  He  then  handed  his  servant 
four  letters,  for  the  mail.  One  of  these,  addressed 
to  M.  Malois,  was  undoubtedly  a  receipt  for  the 
money. 

Denis  asked  no  questions;  he  appeared  to  be  as 
sad  and  gloomy  that  day  as  he  had  seemed  joyful 
the  day  before. 

Night  came.  M.  Marambot  went  to  bed  as  usual 
and  slept. 

Awakened  by  a  strange  noise,  he  sat  up  in  his 
bed  and  listened.  Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and 
Denis  appeared,  having  in  one  hand  a  candle  and 
in  the  other  a  carving-knife,  his  eyes  staring,  his 
face  contracted  as  if  moved  by  some  deep  emotion. 
He  was  as  pale  as  a  ghost. 

M.  Marambot,  astonished,  thought  that  he  was 
sleep-walking,  and  he  was  going  to  get  out  of  bed 
and  assist  him,  when  the  servant  blew  out  the  light 
and  rushed  for  the  bed.  His  master  stretched  out 
his  hands  to  receive  the  shock  which  knocked  him 
over  on  his  back ;  he  was  trying  to  seize  the  hands 
of  his  servant,  whom  he  now  thought  to  be  crazy, 
in  order  to  avoid  the  blows  which  the  latter  was 
aiming  at  him. 

He  was  struck  by  the  knife,  once  in  the  shoul- 
der, once  in  the  forehead  and  a  third  time  in  the 


384  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

chest.  He  fought  wildly,  waving  his  arms  around 
in  the  darkness,  kicking  and  crying: 

"Denis!  Denis!  Are  you  mad?  Listen, 
Denis!" 

But  Denis,  gasping  for  breath,  kept  up  his  furious 
attack,  always  striking,  always  repulsed,  sometimes 
with  a  kick,  sometimes  with  a  punch,  and  again 
rushing  forward  furiously. 

M.  Marambot  was  wounded  twice  more,  once 
in  the  leg  and  once  in  the  stomach.  But  suddenly 
a  thought  flashed  across  his  mind,  and  he  began 
to  shriek: 

"Stop,  stop,  Denis.  I  have  not  yet  received  my 
money !" 

The  man  immediately  ceased,  and  his  master 
could  hear  his  labored  breathing  in  the  darkness. 

M.  Marambot  immediately  continued : 

"I  have  received  nothing.  M.  Malois  takes  back 
what  he  said,  the  lawsuit  will  take  place;  that  is 
the  reason  you  carried  the  letters  to  the  mail.  Just 
read  those  on  my  desk." 

With  a  final  effort,  he  reached  for  his  matches 
and  lighted  the  candle. 

He  was  covered  with  blood.  His  sheets,  his 
curtains,  and  even  the  walls,  were  spattered  with 
red.  Denis,  also  standing  in  the  center  of  the  room, 
was  bloody  from  head  to  foot. 

When  he  saw  that,  M.  Marambot  thought  him- 
self dead,  and  he  fell  unconscious.  At  break  of 
day  he  revived.  It  was  some  time,  however,  before 


DENIS  385 

he  regained  his  senses  and  was  able  to  understand 
or  remember.  But  suddenly  the  memory  of  the 
attack  and  of  his  wounds  returned  to  him,  and  he 
was  filled  with  such  fright  that  he  closed  his  eyes, 
afraid  to  see  anything.  After  a  few  minutes  he 
grew  calmer  and  began  to  think.  He  had  not  died 
immediately,  therefore  he  might  still  recover.  He 
was  very  weak;  but  he  had  no  real  pain,  although 
he  noticed  an  uncomfortable  smarting  sensation  in 
several  parts  of  his  body.  He  also  felt  icy  cold, 
and  all  wet,  and  as  if  wrapped  up  in  bandages.  He 
thought  this  dampness  came  from  the  loss  of  blood ; 
and  he  shivered  at  the  dreadful  thought  of  the  red 
liquid  which  had  come  from  his  veins  and  covered 
his  bed.  The  fear  of  seeing  this  terrible  spectacle 
again  so  upset  him  that  he  kept  his  eyes  closed 
tightly,  as  if  they  might  open  in  spite  of  himself. 

What  had  become  of  Denis?  He  had  probably 
escaped.  But  what  could  he,  Marambot,  do  now? 
Get  up?  Call  for  help?  But  if  he  should  make  the 
slightest  motion,  his  wounds  would  undoubtedly 
open  again  and  he  would  die  from  loss  of  blood. 

Suddenly  he  heard  the  door  of  his  room  open. 
His  heart  almost  stopped.  It  was  certainly  Denis 
who  was  coming  to  finish  him.  He  held  his  breath, 
in  order  to  make  the  murderer  think  he  had  been 
successful. 

He  felt  his  sheet  being  lifted  up,  and  then  some 
one  feeling  his  stomach.  A  sharp  pain  near  his 
hip  made  him  start.  He  was  being  very  gently 


386  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

washed  with  cold  water.  Therefore,  some  one  must 
have  discovered  the  misdeed  and  he  was  being 
cared  for.  A  wild  joy  seized  him;  but  prudently, 
he  did  not  wish  to  show  that  he  was  conscious. 
He  opened  one  eye,  just  one,  with  the  greatest  pre- 
caution. 

He  recognized  Denis  standing  beside  him,  Denis 
himself !  Mercy !  He  hastily  closed  his  eye  again. 

Denis !  What  could  he  be  doing  ?  What  did  he 
want?  What  awful  scheme  could  he  now  be  carry- 
ing out? 

What  was  he  doing  ?  Well,  he  was  washing  him 
in  order  to  hide  the  traces  of  his  crime!  And  he 
would  now  bury  him  in  the  garden,  under  ten  feet 
of  earth,  so  that  no  one  should  discover  him !  Or 
perhaps  under  the  wine-cellar!  And  M.  Maram- 
bot  began  to  tremble  like  a  leaf.  He  kept  saying 
to  himself:  "I  am  lost,  lost!"  He  closed  his 
eyes,  so  as  not  to  see  the  knife  as  it  descended 
for  the  final  stroke.  But  it  did  not  come.  Denis 
was  now  lifting  him  up  and  bandaging  him.  Then 
he  began  carefully  to  dress  the  wound  on  his  leg, 
as  his  master  had  taught  him  to  do. 

There  was  no  longer  any  doubt.  His  servant, 
after  wishing  to  kill  him,  was  trying  to  save  him. 

Then  M.  Marambot,  in  a  dying  voice,  gave  him 
this  practical  piece  of  advice: 

"Wash  the  wounds  in  a  dilute  solution  of  car- 
bolic acid!" 

"That  is  what  I  am  doing,  Monsieur,"  said  Denis. 


DENIS  387 

M.  Marambot  opened  both  eyes.  There  was  no 
sign  of  blood  either  on  the  bed,  on  the  walls,  or 
on  the  murderer.  The  wounded  man  was  stretched 
out  on  clean  white  sheets. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other. 

Finally  M.  Marambot  said  calmly: 

"You  have  been  guilty  of  a  great  crime." 

Denis  answered : 

"I  am  trying  to  make  up  for  it,  Monsieur.  If 
you  will  not  tell  of  it,  I  will  serve  you  as  faith- 
fully as  in  the  past." 

This  was  no  time  to  anger  his  servant.  M.  Ma- 
rambot murmured  as  he  closed  his  eyes : 

"I  swear  not  to  tell." 

Denis  saved  his  master.  He  spent  days  and 
nights  without  sleep,  never  leaving  the  sick-room, 
preparing  drugs,  broths,  potions,  feeling  his  pulse, 
anxiously  counting  the  beats,  attending  him  with 
the  skill  of  a  trained  nurse  and  the  devotion  of 
a  son. 

He  was  all  the  time  asking : 

"Well,  Monsieur,  how  do  you  feel?" 

And  M.  Marambot  would  answer  in  a  weak 
voice : 

"A  little  better,  my  boy,  thank  you." 

And  when  the  sick  man  woke  at  night,  he  often 
«aw  his  servant  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  weeping 
silently. 

Never  had  the  old  druggist  been  so  cared  for. 
io  fondled,  so  spoiled.    At  first  he  had  said: 


388  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"As  soon  as  I  am  well  I  shall  get  rid  of  this 
rascal." 

He  was  now  convalescing,  and  from  day  to  day 
he  put  off  dismissing  his  murderer.  He  thought 
no  one  would  ever  have  such  care  and  attentions 
for  him,  since  he  held  this  man  through  fear;  and 
he  warned  him  that  he  had  left  a  document  with  a 
lawyer  denouncing  him  to  the  law  if  any  new  acci- 
dent should  occur. 

This  precaution  seemed  to  guarantee  him  against 
any  future  attack;  and  he  then  asked  himself 
whether  it  would  not  be  wiser  to  keep  this  man  near 
him,  and  watch  him  closely. 

Just  as  formerly,  when  he  hesitated  about  taking 
some  more  important  store,  he  could  not  make  up 
his  mind  to  any  decision. 

"There  is  always  time,"  he  would  say. 

Denis  continued  to  show  himself  an  admirable 
servant.  M.  Marambot  was  well.  He  kept  him. 

One  morning,  as  he  was  finishing  breakfast,  he 
suddenly  heard  a  great  noise  in  the  kitchen.  He 
hastened  in  there.  Denis  was  struggling  with  two 
gendarmes.  An  officer  was  taking  notes  on  his  pad. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  his  master,  the  servant  be- 
gan to  sob,  exclaiming: 

"You  told,  Monsieur;  that's  not  right,  after  what 
you  had  promised  me.  You  have  broken  your  word 
of  honor,  Monsieur  Marambot;  that's  not  right." 

M.  Marambot,  bewildered  and  distressed  at  being 
suspected,  lifted  his  hand: 


DENIS  389 

"I  swear  to  you  before  the  Lord,  my  boy,  that 
I  did  not  tell.  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  hojv 
the  police  could  have  found  out  about  your  attack 
on  me." 

The  officer  started : 

"You  say  that  he  attacked  you,  Monsieur?" 

The  bewildered  druggist  answered : 

"Yes — but  I  did  not  tell  of  it — I  haven't  said 
a  word — I  swear  it — he  has  served  me  excellently 
ever  since " 

The  officer  said  severely: 

"I  will  take  down  your  testimony.  The  lawv 
will  take  notice  of  this  new  action,  of  which  it  was 
ignorant,  Monsieur  Marambot.  I  was  commis- 
sioned to  arrest  your  servant  for  the  theft  of  two 
ducks  lately  stolen  by  him  from  Monsieur  Du- 
hamel,  for  which  action  there  are  witnesses.  I 
shall  take  notice  of  your  information." 

"Then,  turning  to  his  men,  he  said: 

"Come  on,  bring  him  along!" 

The  two  gendarmes  dragged  Denis  out. 

The  lawyer  used  a  plea  of  insanity,  contrasting 
the  two  misdeeds  in  order  to  strengthen  his  argu- 
ment. He  had  clearly  proved  that  the  theft  of  the 
two  ducks  came  from  the  same  mental  condition  is 
the  eight  knife-wounds  in  the  body  of  Marambot. 
He  had  cunningly  analyzed  all  the  phases  of  this 
transitory  condition  of  mental  aberration,  which 
doubtless,  could  be  cured  by  a  few  months'  treat- 
ment in  a  reputable  sanitarium.  He  had  spoken 


390  GUY  DE  'MAUPASSANT 

in  enthusiastic  terms  of  the  continued  devotion  of 
this  faithful  servant,  of  the  care  with  which  he 
had  protected  his  master,  wounded  by  him  in  a 
moment  of  alienation. 

Touched  by  this  memory,  M.  Marambot  felt  the 
tears  rising  to  his  eyes. 

The  lawyer  noticed  it,  opened  his  arms  with  a 
broad  gesture,  spreading  out  the  long  black  sleeves 
of  his  robe  like  the  wings  of  a  bat,  and  exclaimed : 

"Look,  look,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  look  at  those 
tears.  What  more  can  I  say  for  my  client?  What 
speech,  what  argument,  what  reasoning  would  be 
worth  these  tears  of  his  master?  They  speak 
louder  than  I,  louder  than  the  law ;  they  cry :  'Mercy 
for  the  poor  wandering  mind !'  They  implore,  they 
pardon,  they  bless!" 

He  v/as  silent  and  sat  down. 

Then  the  judge,  turning  to  Marambot,  whose 
testimony  had  been  favorable  for  his  servant,  asked 
him: 

"But,  Monsieur,  even  admitting  that  you  con- 
sider this  man  insane,  that  does  not  explain  why 
you  should  have  kept  him.  He  was  none  the  less 
dangerous." 

Marambot,  wiping  his  eyes,  answered : 

"Well,  your  honor,  what  can  you  expect?  Now- 
adays it's  so  hard  to  find  good  servants — I  never 
could  have  found  a  better  one." 

Denis  was  acquitted  and  sent  to  a  sanatorium,  at 
his  master's  expense. 


001062671     1 


f  V 


